


All the Lights are Shining

by evergreen_on_the_horizon



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - No Bending (Avatar TV), Azula and Zuko are trying, Azula schemes, Background Relationships, But in a kind way, Celebrations, Christmas Fluff, Developing Relationship, Eventual Katara/Zuko (Avatar), Everybody Hates Ozai, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Holiday Cheer, Holidays, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Iroh (Avatar) loves Tea, Past Mai/Zuko (Avatar), Rating May Change, Romance, Secret Organizations, Strangers to Lovers, The Jasmine Dragon (Avatar), Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Winter Solstice, Zuko (Avatar) Needs a Hug, bust out your sweaters and hot chocolate, but this is Avatar so it's the winter solstice everyone, let's get cozy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28001103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evergreen_on_the_horizon/pseuds/evergreen_on_the_horizon
Summary: The amber-eyed woman can’t help the smirk that tugs at her lips. She’s looking to help Zuko to do something of a one-eighty in his love life. That means any girl he gets involved with must also be a one-eighty from Mai. Though Azula treasures Mai, loves her dearly, even, she and Zuko had been a poor match, a miscalculation that Azula does not intend to make again.“Listen,” Azula says with a sigh. “He comes off surly and prickly, but he’s not. He’s shy and he lacks the confidence to talk to pretty girls. If you’re interested in him, you’ll have to make the first move.”Blue Eyes scoffs a laugh. “I’ve dated guys like your brother before,” she says. “I won’t make that mistake again. Hard pass.”--Zuko just wants to get through the winter solstice without acknowledging its existence. Thanks to Uncle, Azula, and a secret society, he may just end up getting into the holiday spirit and finding exactly what he wasn't looking for in the first place.
Relationships: Azula/Ty Lee (Avatar), Katara/Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Suki (Avatar)
Comments: 74
Kudos: 182





	1. In Which There is Meddling

**Author's Note:**

> After working on Lost In You Still for so long, I desperately needed a little bit of fluff in my life. And because it's *that time of year*, I went with a holiday theme. I have no idea how many chapters this will be, I don't have a dedicated update schedule yet, but I can promise you lots of good times.
> 
> A little background: Zuko is friends with Sokka and Suki, but he and Katara don't know each other. How does that work, you ask? HOLIDAY MAGIC. You've just gotta believe, friends. And while we're starting with Iroh and Azula, the rest of the story will be told from Zuko and Katara's eyes. Rating is T for now. May jump to M. Dunno.
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

One Month Until the Winter Solstice

* * *

They have just started unboxing the latest shipment of spices when the girl blows through the doors of the Jasmine Dragon on a blustery gust of winter wind. It’s Wednesday, their slow day. A steady stream of customers is not expected for several hours yet. The whole shop smells of cinnamon and cloves, the promise of a new seasonal blend in the air. Iroh does not fail to notice the way his nephew falters, one hand plunged deep into the crate of cinnamon sticks, his eyes fixated on the pretty face that beams a smile at them. Snowflakes glitter in the long, curling strands of her hair. Iroh digs a gentle elbow into his nephew’s ribs.

“You are staring, Zuko,” he whispers through a smile of his own.

The dark-haired boy turns scarlet and averts his eyes, focusing a little too hard on the task before them. He is twenty-four now, Iroh has to remind himself, not a boy. No longer the terrified child Ursa had brought to his doorstep in the middle of the night eleven years ago.

“Good morning,” Iroh calls and the girl steps further into the shop, tugging a blue and white knit cap from her head and knocking snow from her boots.

“Hi,” she says.

Zuko’s eyes jump back to her, tracking over her face. Her cheeks are tan under the pink bite the wind has left there. Her eyes are bright, bright blue. Iroh wonders vaguely how long it has been since his nephew talked to a pretty girl that his sister hadn’t set him up with. Probably far too long for a young person.

The girl meanders a little closer, tugging off her mittens and tucking them into the bag that dangles off her shoulder. “I was told I might find Iroh here,” she says.

“You were told correctly,” Iroh says.

“Uncle,” Zuko grumbles under his breath.

“Are you Iroh?”

“My whole life!”

Zuko groans and rolls his eyes, continuing to unpack the crate. The counter is swimming with cellophane packets of whole spices. Iroh extracts a glass jar from a cabinet and sets it deliberately in front of his nephew with a stern look.

_Don’t be such a bore._

“Yeah, yeah,” Zuko mutters and rips open a packet of cinnamon sticks.

“Oh, good!” the girl steps up to the counter, extracting a silver padfolio from her bag. “Pakku sent me. He said you were interested in having the Jasmine Dragon participate in the Society’s solstice celebration this year.”

Zuko’s hands fall still over his work. Iroh selects another jar from the cabinet below the counter and plunks it in front of his nephew.

“I’m Katara.” She extends a hand and Iroh takes it in both of his, studying her face a little closer.

“You are Pakku’s granddaughter?” he asks.

He sees nothing of his old friend in her face, but he does see traces of a woman long-gone. Something in the slope of her nose, the pull of her mouth as she speaks.

“I suppose so,” Katara says with something of a bemused smile. “He married my gran-gran a few years ago. My brother calls him Grand-Pakku. He...doesn’t like it much.”

“No,” Iroh says. He casts her a smile of his own, thinks of two small tots being herded into their playroom by a woman who carried herself much in the same way this young lady does. “I suppose he wouldn’t. Pakku always _has_ been a bit of a scrooge.”

The girl laughs, a lighthearted sound that causes Zuko to pause in his work again. Iroh reaches out with a foot and gently treads on his nephew’s toes. There is a hiss of pain and Iroh can feel the way Zuko’s eyes bore holes into the side of his head in retaliation.

“Do you mind If I take some videos and photos of the shop before we talk about logistics?” she asks.

“By all means.”

“Great!” Katara slips her hat back over her hair and deposits her padfolio and bag on a stool in front of the counter. “I’ll do the exterior first.”

Iroh smiles genially as the girl exits the Jasmine Dragon, a lightness in her step as she pulls a cellphone from the pocket of her navy peacoat. He waits for Zuko’s reaction, busying himself with tossing out the empty cellophane wrappers as he does so.

“Uncle.” Zuko’s gravelly voice is near a growl.

“Nephew.”

“What’s this about the solstice celebration?”

“Just a bit of holiday cheer, Nephew. I thought it would be nice to get into the spirit this year.”

“It’s going to upset Mother,” Zuko says. “You know how she feels about this particular holiday.”

Iroh turns to face his nephew full on, eyes and face serious. “I know how _you_ feel about it, Zuko,” he says.

Zuko had become too excellent at hiding his feelings over the years. Together, Iroh and Ursa had worked to seek out a way for the boy to channel his tumultuous emotions, astounded when Zuko took to art therapy like a turtleduck to water. He’d never been verbal about expressing what he felt and was certainly secretive when it came to whatever he created, but something in him seemed to ease when he was working on a new piece.

After a while, Zuko’s feelings regarding the solstice and his memories of his father had evolved from bursts of shouted rage to a sort of general surliness that lingered year round and did not hint as to the truly wonderful person beneath. Iroh wasn’t sure which was better.

“She feels the same way.”

“Your mother has already agreed to it.”

The wrapper Zuko is opening explodes with the force he puts behind it. Cloves rain down across the counter. His scowl deepens and he sets about sweeping the loose cloves into a glass jar, unaware of the one that has lodged itself in his shag of dark hair.

“Mother hates the solstice.”

“Your mother and I believe that it is time for the family to move on, Zuko,” Iroh says quietly. “Eleven years is too long to go with minimal happiness. It is time to leave the hurt and sadness in the past where it belongs. It is time to make new memories.”

“Azula will be angry.”

“Your sister told me that she doesn’t care either way.”

“Azula _always_ says that,” Zuko snaps. “And Azula _always lies_.”

“Zuko,” Iroh says, “I know that you have a great disdain for this time of year.”

Zuko snorts.

“ _However_ ,” Iroh presses on, refusing to be deterred by a poor attitude, “I must ask for your willing participation. No matter how reluctantly you must grant it.”

His nephew’s good eye narrows. “Why?” he grinds out.

“I will be busy with a special brew just for the solstice,” Iroh explains. “Your mother will be busier than ever managing the shop with what will no doubt be an increase in business thanks to the publicity that comes with being involved in this celebration. And with Azula handling the customers, this particular task must fall to you.”

“Azula is _terrible_ with the customers!” Zuko explodes.

“She is better than you, Nephew!” Iroh counters, folding his arms over his chest.

Zuko scowls, a tic working in his jaw, but looks away from his uncle, unable to argue against an excellent point.

“I am asking you to put aside your personal prejudices regarding the winter solstice and work with Miss Katara for the good of our family business. For _me_.”

His request is met with a put-out sigh. Before Zuko can complain that Iroh has pulled the ultimate trump card (the I’m Your Uncle card), though, Katara shoulders her way through the doors once more, snow swirling around her and in her wake. Iroh calls her over and she approaches, her bright-eyed smile stretched across her face.

“My dear,” Iroh says, “I am afraid I will be too busy to be heavily involved in the planning. I have asked my nephew, Zuko, to take my place as your assistant and he has so very kindly agreed.”

He grabs Zuko by the arms and pulls him over. The smile on Katara’s face falters when she is met with the look on Zuko’s.

“Oh,” she says.

“He is much nicer than his first impression would suggest,” Iroh assures her.

Katara’s eyes flit from Iroh to stoic-faced Zuko and back again. She arches an eyebrow and Iroh knows that she is not convinced in the slightest.

“I promise.” He digs a more purposeful elbow into his nephew’s side.

Zuko heaves a sigh, but refrains from rolling his eyes.

 _Progress_ , Iroh thinks with a smug grin.

“Have you seen the terrace out back?” Zuko asks flatly, gesturing to the grand double doors at the back of the shop.

“Er… No, I haven’t.”

“Allow me to show you.”

Zuko shuffles around the counter, fetches his coat from the rack by the front door, and gestures for Katara to follow him. The brunette shoots a questioning look Iroh’s way. He shoos her along with his hands and gives her an encouraging nod. Still looking skeptical, she follows Zuko outside to what is (in Iroh’s opinion) an admittedly splendid terrace.

Not long after, Ursa sweeps through the door to the kitchen, a ledger tucked under her arm and a pencil stashed behind an ear. She takes in the mess of packaging and loose cloves, the half-filled jars, and the conspicuous absence of her son. Iroh points wordlessly towards the back doors before busying himself with the packaging and jars. He tries (and fails) not to watch what is happening outside.

“Who is that, Iroh?” Ursa asks, her eyes tracking the way Katara and Zuko interact just outside the doors to the terrace. The smile has returned to Katara’s face.

“ _Kya’s_ daughter,” Iroh says as though he is divulging a great secret.

He hears the sharp inhale of breath, watches out of the corner of his eye as his sister-in-law peers ever closer at the two youngsters. The girl is gesturing at the doors with large sweeps of her arms as she talks, seemingly unbothered by the scowl on Zuko’s face.

“You don’t say.”

“Pakku sent her over,” Iroh says. “She will be working with the Jasmine Dragon for the solstice celebrations.”

“Iroh,” Ursa says. He doesn’t miss the warning in her tone. “I’m sure Zuko is perturbed enough without you meddling elsewhere in his life. You know how he feels about this time of year.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Iroh says innocently. “Pakku wanted the shop to be the crown jewel of his celebration this year. The center of the Lantern Labyrinth. I simply asked him to send his most devoted planner to help make that happen. How was I to know he would send her?”

“He’s going to read you the riot act,” Ursa says.

“He already has. And if you and Kya were correct,” Iroh says, “he’s going to _fall in love_. If he didn’t already the moment she walked through the door. You should have seen his face!”

“You’re a meddlesome fool, Iroh.” There is no bite to her words, no reprimand, just a sort of resignedness as though she is unwilling to help if her son turns his irritation on his uncle.

“No,” Iroh says with a smile. “I am a _romantic_ and an _opportunist_.”

“Same difference.”

* * *

Iroh watches as Zuko sits with Katara some time later. She has taken her photographs and videos. Now they are ensconced in a booth near the back of the Jasmine Dragon away from the few customers who have dropped in. Zuko’s golden eyes are trained on the page Katara is working a quick sketch across. He’s still scowling, but it’s softer now, he doesn’t look as put out.

“Is Zuzu interacting with a _girl_ ? How _droll_.”

It seems Iroh has somehow unknowingly exchanged Ursa’s company for his niece’s. He looks at her with disapproving eyes.

“Be nice, Azula.”

“What?” she says a little too innocently. “I haven’t said anything to him. Yet.” This is punctuated with a bite of a smile that contains a little too much eyetooth for Iroh’s favor.

“Pakku sent her over. She is from the Secret Solstice Society. I have asked him to work with her.”

“Oh, Uncle,” Azula says with a roll of her eyes. “What a pathetic cover.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“ _Please_. You scheme more than I do. You’re just not as good about covering it up as I am. And your schemes are far more...sentimental.”

“Be nice,” Iroh says again. “Your brother deserves to be happy.”

Azula lets out an indifferent sort of hum and considers Katara and Zuko as she arranges a series of fruit tarts in the display case.

“She’s pretty, I suppose. Seems perky,” she assesses. “I’m not certain she’s his type.”

“But you think Mai _was_?” Iroh says. The way Azula’s smirk falters tells him that he has found the flaw in her argument. Satisfied that she will cease in her rude comments for the time being, Iroh returns his attention to the pair of young people.

Zuko is speaking now, the scowl smoothing out just a little more as he does so, the surly roundness leaving his shoulders. Katara is listening, chin cupped in one brown hand as she considers his words. There is a ribbon of smooth navy velvet tied around her throat, a pearly pendant poised above the neckline of her sweater. Iroh knows the significance of it, has seen Zuko take note of it. He also knows that something in that pendant rings with a different significance in the back of his own mind, one that is twined with dim remembrance of someone lost to time and the veil of death. Though he cannot be certain, he knows that he must not let the presence of that necklace deter Zuko from pursuing this clear interest that is blooming between him and Katara.

Iroh sees it in the way his nephew’s rough edges smooth out. He sees it in the way Katara leans forward, elbow resting on the table, her smile soft and her eyes vivid with intrigue. Zuko tracks her movements with his eyes, studies her face when she focuses on the paper between them and says something that makes a ghostly smile flit across his mouth.

It is a little flicker between them, hindered by unfamiliarity, Zuko’s poor first impression, and the girl’s necklace, but it is there. It persists. Even when they wrap up their conversation and return to the counter where Katara gathers up the rest of her belongings.

Iroh tries to give his undivided attention to the customer who has just approached the counter to make a payment. Even as he counts out change and bids the customer a wonderful day, he cannot stop the dart of his eyes or the prick of his ears.

Zuko stands behind the counter, looking lost and slightly flustered. The clove is still lodged in his hair. Across the counter stands Katara, her padfolio laid open between them.

“Is there a number I can call to reach you here?” she asks, eyes focused on the page in front of her, pen poised and ready to write.

“We, uh, don’t have a landline,” Zuko says.

Iroh rolls his eyes and has to resist slapping a palm to his face. The boy is _dense_. Azula, who stands with her back to Zuko and is pouring out cups of tea for a table, rolls her eyes as well.

“No worries!” The girl scribbles something down on the corner of the page and tears it off. She offers it to Zuko who takes it with tentative fingers. “You can text me. We can coordinate that way.”

With a quick grin, Katara slips into her coat and hat, tucks her supplies away in her bag, and begins a backwards retreat towards the door.

“It was nice to meet you,” she says.

“Yeah,” Zuko replies.

Iroh notices the way those blue eyes narrow almost as if she has been hurt and resolves to have a long discussion with his nephew about how to appropriately interact with nice young ladies. Then, those blue eyes land on him.

“It was nice to meet you, Iroh,” she says.

“You as well, my dear,” Iroh says with all the warmth he can muster to make up for Zuko’s lack of it. “My regards to your Grand-Pakku.”

She laughs, loud and joyful. Then she waves and neatly sidesteps Azula and her tray of tea as she slips out of the Jasmine Dragon and into the snow.

Iroh rounds on his nephew, indignant. “Nephew!” he scolds. “You should not so coldly dismiss a young woman who is interested in you!”

“She’s engaged, Uncle,” Zuko says dryly. “Or did you not notice the necklace she was wearing?”

“I think you would be surprised to learn otherwise.”

Zuko frowns. Azula returns and sets about rearranging the pastry case, taking note of what needs to be restocked. Not much given the early hour and the typical slowness of the day.

“Pretty girls do not scribble their phone numbers on scraps of paper and hand them out to surly gentlemen if they are taken by someone else, Nephew.”

Zuko’s jaw hinges open and he looks to Azula as though she’ll back up his argument.

Instead, Azula shrugs one indifferent shoulder and says, “Uncle isn’t wrong, dum-dum. We don’t.”

Iroh’s nephew rolls his eyes at the conceit dripping from his sister’s voice.

“The necklace is likely a ruse,” Azula continues. “A way of deflecting the advances of men she isn’t interested in.”

“That’s absurd.”

“What’s absurd is you not acting on this. And you should. She seems...lively. You’re so boring now that you’re not with Mai anymore.”

“That was _your_ fault!” Zuko splutters. “ _You_ broke us up!”

Again, Azula shrugs a shoulder. She slides some cookies into the pastry case. “You were boring _with_ her. It was just one big snooze fest. You’re better off apart,” she says. “Ty Lee agrees. She says your aura is much clearer now.”

“I don’t care about what Ty Lee thinks.”

“Of course you do,” Azula says. “You care too much about what _everyone_ thinks, Zuzu. You always have.”

Zuko bristles. Azula regards him with a cool, detached gaze. Sensing a brawl beginning to crackle in the air, Iroh steps between them before a scene can unfold in front of the smattering of customers.

“Nephew,” he says, “will you please take those crates out to the dumpster?”

Zuko reluctantly breaks eye contact with his sister and grabs an empty crate from their spice delivery in either hand, disappearing through the door that swings into the kitchen and muttering all the while. When Iroh turns around, it’s only to see his niece with Katara’s phone number in one hand and Zuko’s phone in the other. Her thumb is working deftly over the screen.

“Azula!” he chides. “You should be ashamed!”

She pins him with her amber eyes, unmoved by his vehemence. “Why?” she says. “For trying to help Zuzu find happiness?”

Iroh pulls the phone from her hand and erases the message she’s written. “He will figure it out in his own time, Azula. You mustn’t meddle.”

Azula blinks at him. “Then what exactly were _you_ doing, Uncle?”

* * *

* * *

“Why are you looking at pictures of pretty girls?” Ty Lee asks as she slides into bed next to Azula that night. There are flames crackling in the fireplace and the curtains are still open, letting in the glow of twinkling holiday lights that reflect off the white halo of snow. “She doesn’t seem like your type.”

Azula doesn’t miss the way Ty Lee’s lip pokes out in a pout. “Does she look like Zuko’s type?” she asks, passing her phone off to her girlfriend.

Ty Lee considers a photo of the girl for a moment before her eyes light up. “I know her!” she says.

“You do?”

“Yes, she’s Suki’s boyfriend’s sister.”

“Who?”

“You remember Suki,” Ty Lee says. “My friend from kickboxing?”

“She has a boyfriend?”

“Yeah. He’s a real hunk, too. But he tells the _worst_ jokes.”

“So you know this girl?”

“Just in passing,” Ty Lee says. “She’s come to a couple of classes. And… Come to think of it, I _do_ think Zuko would be interested in her. She’s fierce, but she’s also quite sweet.”

“What do you know about her?”

“Why are you so curious?”

“She stopped by the Jasmine Dragon today,” Azula says. “She and Zuzu talked for a bit and she gave him her number. And you know Zuzu. He’s so dense. I thought I’d give him a hand by giving her a nudge in the right direction, that’s all.”

“Because of what you did with Mai?” Ty Lee asks knowingly.

Azula is fairly certain that the look she levels at her girlfriend could melt glass. Ty Lee doesn’t quail, just grabs her nail file from the bedside table and sets to work on her nails.

“All I know,” she says, “is that she works in PR for some company near the gym and she’s got a vicious right hook. I’ve heard her and Suki mention how they sometimes meet at the Modern Magnolia for coffee before work.”

Smiling, Azula presses a kiss to Ty Lee’s cheek. “That’s perfect,” she says. Then she cracks open the hefty autobiography of Kyoshi Nakajima that sits at her side as she has been wanting to do all day.

* * *

The Modern Magnolia is, true to its name, a sleek coffee shop with white marble counters and creamy furniture that boasts clean lines. A wall sculpture in the shape of the namesake flower hangs over the fireplace. Azula plants herself at a table between the counter and a sideboard that is stocked with stirring sticks and other accoutrements, laptop open in front of her and a pastry on a clean white plate. She waits, a darkly clothed blemish in the pristine shop.

It doesn’t take long. At seven-thirty, the door to the bustling cafe swings open and the girl walks in, snow frosting her curls and the shoulders of her white wrap coat. Azula notes the chic ankle boots paired with cigarette pants in a black and white plaid. The boots are heeled, allowing Azula to deduce the girl’s naturally short stature. It would be a sickeningly adorable contrast to her brother’s considerable height, Azula decides, if one found that sort of thing _cute_.

The girl approaches the counter and logs her order with the barista. She pulls a stack of business cards from the leather tote draped over her arm and the barista nods. The cards are left in front of the register, the center of the topmost one marked with a splash of blue watercolor not even as vibrant as the girl’s eyes.

Azula scans the shop, calculating her next move. It’s made clear when the girl’s name and order are called and she sidles up to the counter to receive it.

Her name is Katara. She has ordered a hot chocolate. She pauses for a moment to pop the lid off her cup and Azula makes haste for the sideboard. There, she intentionally reaches for a napkin at the same time Katara and her blue, blue eyes arrive, her own hand reaching for a shaker of cinnamon. Their hands cross paths and Blue Eyes is forced to pull back.

“I’m so sorry,” Azula says as sincerely as she can.

“It’s fine.”

“That’s a lovely necklace.”

“Oh!” Blue Eyes looks taken aback, her hand floating towards her neck. “Thank you.”

“How long have you been engaged?” Azula asks.

“Pardon?”

She gestures to the pendant on the other woman’s necklace. “You’re Northern, right?” she says.

“Oh.” Blue Eyes’ slender fingers grasp at the opalescent stone. “No, I’m Southern. This was my mother’s. I’m not engaged.”

Azula smirks. “Ah. Well, you can’t blame a sister for being too careful when a girl wearing a betrothal necklace flirts with her brother.”

Blue Eyes takes a step back. “Excuse me?”

“You needn’t worry,” Azula says. “I didn’t follow you here or anything.”

It’s a half-truth. Azula finds that lying works better for her that way.

“I’m sorry,” the other woman says, shaking her head and obviously befuddled. “Have we _met_?”

“I was there yesterday morning,” Azula says. “At the Jasmine Dragon. I don’t think you noticed me. You were so... _involved_ with Zuzu.”

“Zuzu?”

“I’m Azula.” She proffers her hand. “Zuko’s terrifying little sister.”

Something changes in the woman’s blue eyes as she reaches out to shake the offered hand. “I’ve heard of you,” she says. “Pakku has mentioned you on several occasions.”

Azula rolls her eyes and tosses her hair. “He’s never liked me.”

“No offense, but I can see why.”

The amber-eyed woman can’t help the smirk that tugs at her lips. She’s looking to help Zuko to do something of a one-eighty in his love life. That means any girl he gets involved with must also be a one-eighty from Mai. Though Azula treasures Mai, loves her dearly, even, she and Zuko had been a poor match, a miscalculation that Azula does not intend to make again.

“I’m not _that_ much of a monster,” Azula says flippantly.

“I’ll tell that to the children you made cry last winter solstice.”

The smirk stretches into a knife-sharp smile. Blue Eyes is feisty. That’s good. Azula can work with feisty.

“He’s shy,” Azula says. “Very lacking in confidence.”

“Are you...talking about your _brother_?”

“I’ve never made it a habit to pull punches.”

“Surely you have kinder things to say about your own brother.”

“Listen,” Azula says with a sigh, “he’d never believe it if I told him, but I love my brother. Even if he’s a bit of a dummy. I know him well and I _do not pull punches_. He comes off surly and prickly, but he’s not. He’s shy and he lacks the confidence to talk to pretty girls. If you’re interested in him, you’ll have to make the first move.”

Blue Eyes scoffs a laugh. “I’ve dated boys like your brother before,” she says. “I won’t make that mistake again. Hard pass.”

“You gave him your number.”

“For professional reasons.”

Azula cocks her head. “If it was professional, you would have given him one of the business cards you just set out by the register,” she says. Delight curls through her stomach when the woman’s cheeks flush. “You scribbled it on a scrap of paper like a teenager with a crush. I’m pretty. I’m not _stupid_.”

“You are _weirdly_ involved in this,” Blue Eyes says.

She makes to leave, stepping around Azula and heading for the door of the coffeehouse. When Azula’s hand shoots out to grab the other woman’s arm, she knows it’s a step too far. She knows she’ll have to soften her attack now. Blue Eyes freezes, body going stiff.

“Let. Go. Of me.”

Azula does, smoothly stepping to block the exit again.

“You don’t like me. I understand. I’m confrontational and blunt. People don’t like that. But you liked _him_. We both know you did. If you’re honestly interested, text him first. He’ll surprise you. I promise.”

Blue Eyes just stares for a moment, her face devoid of any thought or feeling. “I’m going to be late for work,” she says finally.

Azula watches the other woman go, eyes narrowed in thought. She joins the queue and, upon reaching the register, orders herself a coffee to go with her untouched pastry and palms one of Blue Eyes’ business cards. She’s confident that Blue Eyes will text Zuko first, but it doesn’t hurt to formulate a backup plan. Just in case.

* * *

Azula and Ty Lee steal into Zuko’s building without his knowledge by buzzing Haru’s apartment. Azula tells Haru (poor, gullible Haru) that they are there to surprise her brother with dinner. It’s a half-truth again. They _are_ here to surprise Zuzu with dinner, that’s just not Azula’s ultimate motive.

It’s a simple plan, really. Gain access to Zuko’s apartment, ply him with food and drink, and send Ty Lee in to distract him should Blue Eyes’ text (which, Azula is positive, will arrive tonight) come at a time where Azula cannot intercept it. Tonight is the night that Azula sets right a wrong she has inflicted and erases the debt she incurred as a result. She doesn’t like owing debts. Especially to her dummy of a brother.

When Zuko opens the door to his apartment and sees that his sister is on the other side of it, he scowls. Azula has to force herself not to laugh. He’s been so upset with her regarding the way she split up his relationship with Mai that he seems to think Azula is evil incarnate. Azula doesn’t _want_ his forgiveness. She doesn’t _need_ his forgiveness. She just needs him to cheer the fuck up. And if she can kill two birds with one stone by setting him up with Blue Eyes and therefore finding him some semblance of happiness, then so be it.

“Before you turn us away,” she says, “we brought food!”

Ty Lee holds up two paper bags of food that bear the swirling red symbol of Pao’s, Zuko’s favorite place for noodles and dumplings. It’s the only restaurant in Ba Sing Se that he feels has an appropriate heat level for its Fire Nation dishes. He looks from the bags to Ty Lee to Azula, then back to the bags.

“Fine,” he says, walking away from the door.

It’s not so much an invitation as it is a resignation, but Azula takes it. She strides through the open door, Ty Lee hot on her heels. Though she never relishes visiting Zuko in his home, she does take note that several of his drawings have been framed and hung on the wall, his signature cleverly hidden within the lines of each picture. She’ll have to inform Mother and Uncle. That Zuzu would display his own work is significant progress.

As her brother fetches plates and utensils from the kitchen, Azula makes herself at home in the lone armchair, leaving the couch to Zuko and Ty Lee. Zuko’s phone is plugged into its charger. It sits on the little table next to the chair, unattended and quiet. Not that Azula expected anything less. Socializing of any kind is not her brother’s favorite activity. Getting him to answer his Agni-damned phone or a non-emergency text message is always something akin to a miracle.

“That’s my seat,” Zuko says when he enters the room, hands loaded with plates, utensils stacked neatly atop them.

“I brought you food,” Azula says primly. “I’ll sit where I please.”

Zuko turns to Ty Lee. “How did you two even get into my building?”

“Oh, we just buzzed Haru’s apartment,” Ty Lee says brightly.

“Ty Lee!”

“Quit bothering my neighbors so that you can get in here, Azula,” Zuko snaps.

“How else would I be able to see my darling brother outside of work hours?”

“You don’t like spending time with me _during_ work hours,” he grumbles.

But Azula and Ty Lee are already in the apartment and they’ve brought food. And Azula knows that, as much as Zuko would hate to admit it, he’s partial to Ty Lee in his own way. So he allows them to stay, even if he hasn’t forgiven Azula for laying the foundation for his break up with Mai.

Ty Lee initiates and facilitates much of the conversation that takes place over dinner. She has a sharp talent for making Zuko laugh in spite of his general air of sulkiness and even wheedles him into watching a movie when they’ve all finished eating and Azula signals that Blue Eyes has yet to make contact.

The movie is long and dull, heavy on special effects that Ty Lee gushes over. It’s nearly over and Azula has very nearly given up on Blue Eyes when Zuko’s phone buzzes and the screen lights up. Sparing a glance at her brother who is heavily invested in the movie, Azula allows herself a closer look at the name on the text notification.

There is no name, just a series of numbers that align with the ones she memorized yesterday.

Azula coughs twice.

Ty Lee doesn’t budge.

Azula coughs again, louder and with more purpose.

Ty Lee leaps out of her seat, mouthing a silent apology to her girlfriend before she seizes Zuko by the arm. “Let’s go make drinks!” she says, as bubbly and effervescent as ever.

“I have to work in the morning,” Zuko protests, allowing himself to be pulled out of the room anyway.

“We’re not going to get _drunk_ ,” Ty Lee says.

Their banter fades to background noise. Azula grabs Zuko’s phone and punches in his passcode. He’s had to change it three times in the same number of years because he inevitably finds her browsing his phone. She justifies her snooping by blaming him for his easy-to-guess passcodes.

The text is from Blue Eyes. She’s inviting Zuko to meet her “and some friends” at a bar tomorrow night. Azula grins and deletes the message without replying. It is exactly the kind of situation her brother hates, which is exactly why she has to figure out how to get him there.


	2. In Which Ty Lee is a Terrible Wingwoman but a Good Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko, Azula, Ty Lee, and a *fun* night out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! It's Monday and I have an update for all of you! I wasn't expecting to, but I do. It's here. I can't seem to write Zuko without a little bit of angst, so you'll have to forgive me that. I think maybe I just love Zuko learning that happiness is possible for him. It makes the warm and fuzzy feelings so much more rewarding.
> 
> Here is the result of all that meddling. Or at least the beginning of the result. ☺️

* * *

Twenty-Nine Days Until the Solstice

* * *

“I’m going home,” Zuko says.

Friday night has found him once more in the company of Azula and Ty Lee. They’d shown up at his door again (he was really going to have to talk to Haru about buzzing them in), unannounced and unexpected as usual, ripped him away from his console and the game he’d been thrashing Sokka in, shoved him into what they’d declared _presentable clothes_ , and ushered him out into the cold winter night with no answers as to where they were going.

They’d linked their arms through either of his and essentially frogmarched him ten blocks to a bar with twinkle lights in its frosty windows and the sounds of jazz music floating out the door.

He’s pretty convinced it could qualify as a kidnapping.

“You’re not going home,” Azula says with a flick of her sleek, dark hair.

Yup. _Definitely_ a kidnapping.

“I don’t want to be here,” Zuko protests even as his sister and her girlfriend shuffle him forward in the queue to get their IDs checked.

“Nonsense,” Azula says. “When’s the last time you had a fun night out?”

“No offense, Azula,” Zuko says, seriously hoping she’ll take offense and let him go, “but hanging out at a _bar_ with _you_ is not my idea of a _fun night out_.”

He’s cold, having been forbidden by Ty Lee to utilize the hood of the hoodie layered under his peacoat. She’d told him it would make his hair _staticky_ and _flat_. Apparently these were bad things that could not be permitted just because Zuko’s ears were cold.

He’s also not in the mood to be sandwiched into a crowded bar with a hundred drunk strangers. Friday nights are always designated to trouncing Sokka at the video game of the month, whether virtually, like tonight, or in person. He’s already received several peeved text messages from his best friend complaining that Zuko bailed mid-game (however unwillingly that had been).

Ty Lee turns her big, gray eyes to him, a kind smile on her face. It melts him just a little bit. Her lack of perfidiousness had always endeared her to him in ways that Azula could never aspire to, even if she was gratingly bubbly at times.

“Zuko,” she says kindly, “it’s been a year since you and Mai split up.”

“ _Not_ my fault,” Zuko grinds out, attempting to untangle his arm from his traitorous sister’s. She hangs on, much like an unwanted barnacle.

“You don’t regret it, do you?”

She’s looking at him. Azula is, too. Two women who can see through him in a fraction of a heartbeat. He shifts uncomfortably on his feet, knowing that he can’t lie. They shuffle forward in the slow-moving line, still three abreast. He _doesn’t_ regret it. Things with Mai had been tumultuous to say the very least. Always on and off, both of them perpetually unhappy with the world and thus each other.

Still, admitting his sister had been right pisses Zuko off.

“No,” he says. He refuses to look at Azula, to see the victorious smile no doubt splitting her face in two.

“Does it still hurt?”

“No,” he says again, just as sullen.

“Then it’s time to get back out there.”

Zuko doesn’t like being _out there_ . He likes being safely ensconced in his comfort zones. His apartment. The Jasmine Dragon. Sokka and Suki’s place. Hanging out at the art collective’s studio space with Toph and creating new things. Being _out there_ means strangers who leer at the scar on his face and awkward, half-shouted conversations with uninteresting women in too-loud spaces.

He thinks of the girl from work the other day. The one who had been too excited about the solstice and had an absolutely arresting smile, eyes that could stop a blind man in his tracks. She’d been easy to talk to. She’d given him her number.

She’d also been wearing a betrothal necklace.

“I won’t leave your side,” Ty Lee promises. “As one of your designated wingwomen, I will make sure you have a _fantastic_ evening!” She digs an elbow into his ribs and wiggles her eyebrows.

“Don’t make this weirder than it already is, Ty Lee,” Zuko says.

She flushes. “You know what I mean.”

Zuko and Azula are waved through the door without comment. As expected, the bar is crowded with people. The conversation is loud and the music the live band is playing is louder and this is decidedly _not_ how Zuko wants to spend his Friday night. But Azula keeps an iron-like grip on his arm while Ty Lee is carded at the door. Her pretty face and bright smile distract the bouncer so much that Zuko is positive her ID isn’t even checked. She skips through the door a second later and tugs Zuko out of Azula’s grasp, chattering directions at him.

“Leave your coat with Azula.”

“Why?”

“It’s not like she’s going to set it on fire or anything, silly. It’s hot in here!” Ty Lee begins tugging upward on the sleeves of his black hoodie once his coat is in Azula’s hands.

“What are you doing?”

“Girls like tattoos!” Ty Lee pauses. “Well, _some_ girls like tattoos.”

Zuko looks down at his exposed right forearm where a dragon’s tail brushes his wrist and twines up his skin, disappearing under the cuff of his sleeve. Behind him, Azula huffs an irritated sigh.

“Relax, Zuzu. It’s not like she’s giving away the farm. You don’t have to look so perplexed.”

“I’m perfectly capable of talking to women without help from either of you,” Zuko says.

“No, Zuko,” Ty Lee says. “I love you, but you’re _not_.”

He blinks at her, a little affronted. “I talk to girls.”

Azula snorts. “Name the last woman you talked to who wasn’t either of us or Mother.”

“Toph, Suki, that girl from work the other day,” he says, counting them out on his fingers.

“Oh, yes. The grubby-handed loudmouth, your best friend’s girlfriend, and a woman you refuse to contact because you won’t believe me when I say she’s single. Your social life is just _rife_ with potential romantic interests,” says his sister. She grabs him by the front of his hoodie and hauls him towards the bar. “Let’s get a drink in you, Zuzu.”

* * *

Zuko is leaning on the bar, waiting for his second drink and plotting how to make his escape from this heinous evening out with Azula, when someone bumps into him. He looks up into startling, familiar blue eyes. His heart lurches into his throat much the way it did when he first laid eyes on her.

“Zuko?”

“Hi,” he says dumbly.

Katara smiles, all brilliant white teeth and dimples. “I didn’t think you’d make it!” she says.

Zuko blinks at her, confused. “What?” His drink lands on the polished wood counter and he reaches for it blindly, unable to tear his eyes from her face.

“Do you want to come meet some people?”

“Oh! Um…” He’s baffled by her appearance and can’t help but feel like he’s missing some critical information. A glance around the bar cultivates evidence that his sister and his supposedly _dedicated_ wing woman have abandoned him. They’ve commandeered a pool table and look like they’re about ready to con a couple of guys. Zuko is alone.

This, he thinks, is his one chance to leave without their notice. He can go home, finish kicking Sokka’s ass, and collect his nice, tidy sum from their bet.

Or…

“Okay.”

Katara grins and beckons for him to follow her. They weave through the crowds and clusters of patrons and Zuko does his best not to notice the way the fabric of her sweater dress clings to her backside. He fails miserably. But he also doesn’t fail to notice that Katara is leading him to a table around which sit four attractive women and one gangly, bald guy who lays his arm over the back of the chair she slides into. She makes introductions as Zuko takes the only open seat available—the one on her left.

The woman with the sleek black hair is Min. To Min’s right is Nari, her eyes slashed with bold eyeliner and her lips painted deep red. Across from Katara sits Ikuye who assesses Zuko with eyes so pale blue they look almost silver. Between Zuko and Ikuye is Yuna who eyes the dragon tail trailing up his forearm with interest. The bald guy is Aang. He lifts his hand from the back of Katara’s chair to shake Zuko’s, then drops it back to its resting place, his thumb brushing over her bicep.

Zuko is officially lost.

“How do you all know each other?” he asks.

“Oh! Right,” Katara says. “Aang and I met in college. Everyone else is a friend from kickboxing.”

“Did you come here with Ty Lee?” Ikuye says.

“You know Ty Lee?”

Ikuye tilts her head and shrugs. “We used to be in the Monday-Wednesday class together until I switched my days,” she says. “The two of you looked awful...cozy.”

Zuko finds himself the unwilling target of six pairs of eyes. Katara has even leaned away from Aang to pin him with her bright blue gaze. He feels his face flush and a scowl start to crawl across his lips.

“No,” he says. “I mean, I’m here with Ty Lee, but I’m not here _with_ Ty Lee. She’s, uh, an old friend. We’ve known each other for ten years.”

Nobody says anything. There’s more of an explanation Zuko could offer, but it’s really not his place. Azula and Ty Lee have never been the type of couple to share their relationship status with others just because. They don’t hide it, but they also don’t offer confirmation unless explicitly asked. Ty Lee had always said, _Why should we have to announce it to the room if heterosexual couples don’t?_ And she had a point.

“What’s with the dragon tattoo?” Yuna finally asks.

Zuko’s fingers twitch with the temptation to pull the sleeves of his hoodie down to his wrists. “What do you mean?” he hedges. He very much wants to leave. There’s too much scrutiny at this table and Aang’s thumb keeps touching Katara’s arm and Zuko is very, _very_ confused.

“So many dudes have dragon tattoos,” Yuna says. She presses her beer bottle to her lips and drinks. “What’s the story behind yours?”

“Don’t feel like you have to share,” Katara’s voice cuts in. Zuko swivels his head to look at her and she offers a small smile. “We can easily talk about something else.”

He remembers how easy it was to talk to her the other day in the Jasmine Dragon, even though she was a little too enthusiastic about her role in helping with the winter solstice. Even if they hadn’t talked about anything else. There had been something infectious about her positive attitude and she’d actually looked at his whole face as they’d conversed, not one side or the other.

“It’s in honor of my uncle,” Zuko says to Katara more so than anyone else at the table. “He retired from the Fire Nation army a decade or so ago. They called him the Dragon of the West.”

“Wait.”

Zuko cuts his eyes to the speaker, Min. She’s leaning forward in interest, pale hands cupped around her drink.

“Is your uncle General Iroh Takeda?”

“Yes.”

Min flops back in her seat, impressed. “I’ve read about him,” she says. “He is such a badass.”

“Well,” Katara cuts in, “now he makes a badass cup of tea.”

She handily diverts the conversation to other topics from there, holding court beneath the pine-draped exposed beams of the ceiling. She leans forward, away from Aang’s arm, as she speaks, teeth flashing in her dimpled smile. Zuko is silently grateful for the way she interacts with everyone at the table, masterfully including everyone, but never seeming to press him for input. Most of the time, she draws peoples' stories from them with artful questions, but when she tells a story of her own, she holds her table of friends in thrall and elicits raucous laughter. At one point, Ty Lee catches Zuko’s eye from across the bar and flashes him a huge grin and a thumbs up. He rolls his eyes, still very aware of the possessive way Aang’s arm drapes over the back of Katara’s chair and the pendant that hangs at the dip between her collarbones.

Two rounds of drinks later, Zuko has learned that Katara has a brother who is in a relationship with her best friend. He knows now that she took up surfing with Ikuye and Nari last summer. She hates papayas.

She leans away from Aang’s touch, but doesn’t outright discourage it. Zuko can’t discern if Aang is her fiance or if they’re just incredibly familiar. He’s inclined to think Aang is the former as opposed to the latter because he seems like an okay enough person and not at all like he makes it a habit of putting his arm around women who are taken by someone else.

Nari has just started what promises to be a wild story about half a pie, a polar dog, and a very unfortunate boat when Ty Lee sidles up behind Zuko’s chair and leans in close.

“We have to go,” she whispers. “ _Now_.”

Zuko turns around to meet her eyes, taking note of the firm line she’s pressed her lips into. “What did Azula do?” he asks, rising out of his seat.

“Oh, you know,” Ty Lee says, waving her hand nebulously. “Nothing that can really be _proven_. She’s just had a few peppermint martinis and, well...” She trails off shrugging before she begins to nibble at her thumb nail, remorseful eyes fixed on Zuko’s face.

Zuko groans. “Ty Lee, you know how belligerent she gets,” he says, shoving his chair towards the table.

“Everything okay?” Aang interjects.

“It’s fine,” Zuko says. “We’ve just gotta get my sister home.”

“Sorry to interrupt!” Ty Lee says with an apologetic smile.

“I’ll come by the Jasmine Dragon with some volunteers on Monday,” Katara tells Zuko. “Text me a convenient time.”

He ignores the way his heart thuds in his chest at that promise. “It was nice to meet you all,” he says to the table at large. Then, Ty Lee pulls him away from the table, tucking her arm through his.

“You know better than to let her drink that trash.”

“I know, Zuko. I just… One seemed okay. And then one turned into three and that turned into five—”

“ _Five?!_ ”

“I know, I know!”

Zuko swears loudly and vehemently, earning the appalled look of a nearby patron. Azula has never been a sloppy drunk, but her tendency to antagonize others is certainly augmented under the influence of certain alcohols. Zuko and Ty Lee had taken to keeping a list years ago—a list that peppermint vodka lingered near the top of.

They find Azula near the pool tables, a cue stick propping her up as she glares into the eyes of a hulking man with biceps the size of Zuko’s head. After locating and putting on his coat, Zuko pulls Ty Lee aside.

“You grab the cue stick and I’ll grab her,” he says.

Ty Lee nods. “You’ll need to be quick,” she replies. “You know she’s going to lose it the moment I—”

“I am _aware_ , Ty Lee.”

Smooth on her feet, Ty Lee slides between Azula and the man, catching the other woman’s eyes with her own and muttering gentle words that Zuko can’t hear over the din of the bar. She sets about picking Azula’s fingers off the cue stick one by one. When she’s freed it from Azula’s grasp, she sidesteps towards the pool table to lay it down and Zuko darts in like lightning to make his move.

He ducks low, grabbing his sister about the waist and tossing her over his shoulder before she can properly process what’s happening. Azula shouts threats at her pool table nemesis the whole way out the door and then loudly begins to demand that Zuko put her down when they are a safe distance away from the bar.

“And what,” he says dryly, “are you going to do?”

“I’m going to give that buffoon a piece of my mind!”

“Exactly.”

Zuko pulls to a stop on the far side of the sidewalk so they’re not in the way of any passersby and Ty Lee crouches down behind him to meet Azula’s eyeline, more calming words on her lips. They’ve done this so many times it’s nearly muscle memory at this point; Zuko can guess down to the second how many minutes it will take Ty Lee to calm his sister down.

When she’s sufficiently cowed, temper at a simmer rather than a boil, Zuko sets Azula back on her feet. She totters on her heels, glowers at him darkly from behind the choppy fringe of her bangs.

“I should have your head for that,” she slurs, pointing an accusatory finger in his face.

Zuko sighs and grabs her hand. Ty Lee takes the other.

“I hate Peppermint Martini Azula,” he grouses to Ty Lee. “She’s belligerent and talks like a homicidal dictator.”

It’s Azula’s turn to be frogmarched through the streets of Ba Sing Se. Zuko and Ty Lee don’t dare hail a cab or a rideshare. It’s been tried before. Azula had made the driver cry so hard he’d pulled over, gotten out, and just walked away.

Snow cakes the sidewalks. Evergreen wreaths decorate the doors of businesses and apartment buildings. Azula’s place is a significant detour on Zuko’s own journey home. She mutters insults and threats the whole way there, and the longer Zuko is out in the cold winter air, the more the scar around his eye seems to stiffen.

By the time he and Ty Lee have wrangled Azula into her bed, Zuko has swung into a downward spiral of resentment the likes of which he hasn’t experienced in years. Resentment for Azula and her proclivity for manipulation. Resentment for the winter solstice and the shitty memories it never fails to call to mind. Resentment for his father and the way he’d destroyed the family and part of Zuko’s face in the process.

“Zuko.”

Ty Lee’s fingers brush over the back of his hand and Zuko jumps. It dawns on him that he’s shaking with the force of his emotion, his hands are balled into fists. Azula, sprawled across her mattress like a starfish and nearly asleep, grumbles something unintelligible.

“Come on.”

Small fingers wrap around his wrist and pull him from the bedroom. Ty Lee deposits him on the sofa in Azula’s absurdly extravagant living room. She settles next to him, body angled his way, hand still grasping his wrist.

“I want to go home,” Zuko says.

“I know,” Ty Lee replies, her voice soft and kind. “Let’s talk it out first.”

His eyes jump to hers and he frowns. He doesn’t talk about these things with people and she knows it.

“You seemed like you were having a good time tonight,” she ventures. “I’m sorry I had to cut it short for you.”

“It’s no big deal.”

“It _is_ ,” Ty Lee argues. “I should have been more responsible. Azula could have gotten into a lot of trouble tonight.”

Zuko grunts.

“I _am_ sorry, Zuko. She was really pretty.”

His heart jolts in his chest. He eyes Ty Lee warily. “Who?” he says.

“You know who.” She smiles, the corners of her gray eyes crinkling. “I was really impressed by you tonight. I know what it takes for you to willingly socialize with a bunch of strangers. She must be special.”

“Well, if you and Azula hadn’t left me alone…”

Ty Lee glances over her shoulder, eyes sweeping over the closed bedroom door. She inches closer to Zuko. “I know you’re mad at Azula because of how she sped up the end of things with you and Mai,” she says. “And I know it doesn’t seem like it sometimes, but she loves you more than pretty much everyone else in the world.”

“She has a terrible way of showing it,” Zuko says.

He knows it’s not fair of him to say that. They both have trouble when it comes to expressing themselves. Neither of them are capable of allowing people to get too close. The trauma of a decade past had shot their childhoods to hell and thrust them into maturity beyond their years and comprehension. Emotions had been difficult to understand and process.

“She tries her best,” Ty Lee says gently. “You both do.”

“I know,” Zuko replies. “I didn’t mean…” He sighs. “I hate the winter solstice.”

Ty Lee reaches out to cover one of his hands with her own. Her fingers are soft and warm like the smile she tilts in his direction when she says, “I know it’s not my place to comment on your trauma, but maybe it’s time to start actively forming some new memories to make this time of year seem less bleak.”

“That’s what Uncle said.”

With a small hum of agreement, Ty Lee draws her hand away. Zuko pulls out his phone and begins the search for a rideshare. It’s requested and five minutes away before Zuko meets her eyes again.

“Thank you for being a good friend, Ty Lee.”

“Of course!” Her grin is brilliant in the lamplight of the room. Again, she glances towards the room where Azula sleeps. “And… Look, you didn’t hear this from me, okay? But… She knew.”

“Who knew what?”

“Azula. She knew that your girl would be there.”

Zuko groans and drops his head back to rest on the wall. “For the love of Agni, Ty Lee. She is not _my girl_. I’ve talked to her a grand total of two times now. Besides. It doesn’t matter. She’s clearly involved with someone.”

“Her aura said otherwise,” Ty Lee says with a certain smugness of tone that crawls under Zuko’s skin and threatens to fester. “And Azula certainly didn’t think so either. And you _know_ she has a scary way of knowing things about people.”

“It doesn’t matter, Ty Lee,” Zuko says.

“It does to us. We want you to be happy, Zuko. That’s why Azula brought you out tonight. You should ask that girl out.”

“Look,” he stands and tugs on his coat, “it was nice of Azula to stalk some poor, unsuspecting woman for me. _I guess_ . If you ignore _every single line_ it crosses. But that’s just not going to happen. I know maybe five things about her and one of those things is that she wears a betrothal necklace.”

“Sometimes a necklace is just a necklace!” Ty Lee insists.

“And sometimes a guy puts his arm around a woman as a signal to another guy to back off.”

“Who?” Ty Lee says. “The _bald guy_?”

Zuko shrugs.

Tye Lee laughs. Something thuds against the bedroom door in response. Her laugh quiets to a snicker.

“Yeah,” she says. “That’s definitely _not_ a thing.”

“Did you see that in their auras, too?” Zuko sneers. Ty Lee glares at him and he knows he deserves it, so he mutters an apology.

“I saw it in her body language.”

Zuko’s phone buzzes. His ride is close. “I’ve gotta go,” he says.

Ty Lee pulls him into a fierce hug, her arms tight around his shoulders. “You get to be happy, Zuko,” she murmurs in his ear. “Don’t give up on the possibilities.” When she pulls away, she looks him square in the eye. “Have a little faith in Azula. And if you can’t have faith in her, have faith in the universe. It wouldn’t send a woman like that your way if you two were out of the realm of possibility.”

Zuko doesn’t address this. He simply says, “Goodnight, Ty Lee,” before kissing her on the cheek and stepping out the door.

Pausing for a moment, he waits to hear the deadbolt slide shut before he heads downstairs to meet his rideshare. His driver is an elderly man who checks his identity before allowing him into the car and remains silent for the whole duration of the drive. Zuko is grateful for the quiet and makes a mental note to leave the man a large tip. He hates chatty drivers.

As home grows closer, Zuko stares out the window, his forehead pressed against the icy glass, watching as buildings streak past. The earliest signs of the solstice are appearing. People are decorating their front doors with evergreen wreaths and lighting candles in their windows. Allowing himself to sink down into the numb place he’s hollowed out in his heart for this time of year, Zuko tries not to think of the old memories that clamor for attention at the back of his mind and instead settles on a far prettier form of torture.

There’s something familiar in her features that he can’t quite place. He’s been trying to figure it out from the moment she walked through the doors of the Jasmine Dragon. It’s nothing obvious. It just seems like he’s seen her before. Perhaps it’s the tilt of her smile or the precise shade of her eyes when she laughs. Whatever that quality is, it lingers just out of his grasp, elusive and curious.

He’s still thinking of blue, blue eyes and a dimpled smile when he finally crawls between his sheets and drifts to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU a hundred times over for your warm, positive response to the last chapter. I'm always so overwhelmed (in a good way) and delighted by your comments. Hearing what you have to say makes me smile so hard my cheeks hurt and makes this process just so much more rewarding.
> 
> I'll see you all soon for the next update. (Hopefully that will be later this week if all goes well.) In the meantime, let me know what you thought! xx


	3. In Which There is Clarity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. The holidays ate me alive, everyone. I thought this year would have been a cakewalk. But there's always that one person who just...complicates matters. Ugh.
> 
> And then 2021 rolled around and I was SO looking forward to what this year had in store. But I live in the US. And 2021 is, so far, just as much of a dumpster fire as 2020 was.
> 
> So this took me a while. But I'm back! I'm a little off my game, but I'm back.
> 
> Have some Zutara. We all deserve it.

* * *

Twenty-Six Days Until the Solstice

* * *

Katara shows up with two volunteers on Monday—Aang and Min. As arranged, they arrive during the last hour the Jasmine Dragon is open. For the life of him, Zuko cannot puzzle out what the three of them are doing there. Min has spent most of their allotted time sitting at the counter and quizzing Uncle on his extensive military career. Aang flits around after Katara as she holds up fabric swatches and sketches designs on a large pad of paper. When Uncle decides to leave for the night, Min sticks around for only a short time after and then Zuko is left alone in the Jasmine Dragon with Aang and Katara.

Never prone to talking much himself, Zuko is astounded by the way Aang chatters relentlessly to Katara as she works. There is a steady stream of affirmations and compliments that never seems to cease, and Zuko supposes that he can see the appeal of Aang for Katara. She has a brightness to her personality as well that must attract others like her.

That doesn’t mean that Zuko doesn’t find Aang grating. He and Ty Lee would probably get along _swimmingly_. They’re both made up of sunshine and rainbows and happiness.

“Do either of you mind if I play some music over the system while I close up?” Zuko asks.

Katara, heavily involved in something on her laptop, shrugs and Aang says brightly, “Do you have any holiday music?” There is a painfully large grin spread across his face.

“No,” Zuko deadpans.

Aang’s face falls. “But… ‘Tis the season and all that!”

“I’m not a big proponent of the winter solstice.”

Connecting his phone to the sound system, Zuko selects something moody and solemn and turns the volume up just enough to prevent Aang from talking to him more about the Agni-damned winter solstice. His therapist would ask him to examine his passive aggressive behavior, reflect upon why Aang’s happiness at this time of the year is so hard for Zuko to deal with. But Zuko doesn’t have to reflect or examine. He _knows_ why he’s doing it. He’s always held a petty jealousy deep in his heart for people who don’t associate this time of year with physical and emotional trauma.

Aang’s presence in the Jasmine Dragon makes Zuko unbelievably glad that tomorrow is his day off and he’ll get to spend some time with canvas and paper.

“It’s ten o’clock, Aang,” Katara says, her eyes still fixed on her laptop.

Zuko tells himself that he doesn’t notice the little furrow between her eyebrows as she concentrates.

“Monkeyfeathers! I gotta go.” Aang says this to Zuko as though they are old friends who have been deep in conversation for hours. “Katara’s brother and I are going on a hike in the morning.”

“Have fun with that,” Zuko says.

He turns his attention to the teapot he’s cleaning, but Aang continues speaking.

“You should come with us sometime! It’s a lot of fun.”

“I don’t hike.”

“Well,” Aang shrugs. “It’s a standing invitation if you’d ever care to take us up on it. Bye, Katara!”

Zuko tries valiantly to ignore the stone of envy that settles into the pit of his stomach when Aang flings his arms around Katara’s shoulders from behind and squeezes her in a tight hug. She pats his arm absentmindedly.

“See you tomorrow, Aang.”

The bell on the door tinkles as Aang exits the teashop, and Zuko and Katara lapse into silence as they work. Zuko follows Uncle’s meticulous closing checklist to the letter, Katara types furiously at her laptop, and Zuko’s sullen music plays on. If his choice in bands bothers her, she doesn’t let on.

“You don’t mind if I stay until you’re done, do you?” she does ask after a moment.

Zuko looks up from his tally of leftover pastries and swallows hard. Katara is looking at him, all blue eyes and dimples and sweet smiles. The pendant on her necklace glimmers in the golden light of the shop.

“Not at all.”

“I think I picked the wrong volunteers to come with me tonight.”

“Your friend is very interested in my uncle.”

“Who? Min?” Katara chuckles and the sound nearly makes Zuko crack something resembling a smile. “Yeah. She’s intense. Right now, she’s getting her doctorate in military history. Most of her heroes are dead, so getting the chance to meet your uncle was something she couldn’t pass up.”

“Oh.”

Zuko resumes his routine, sweeping the smooth wooden floors of the shop and wiping down the tables. He collects the salt, pepper, and sugar dispensers from each table and brings them behind the counter to fill them. Katara is staring at paint chips and fabric swatches, pairing and unpairing them on the counter.

“Can I ask your opinion?” she asks abruptly.

Zuko spills sugar all over the workbench when their eyes meet. “On, um…” He looks down at her array of colors and then back up to her face. “On interior design?”

“Kind of.”

“I don’t have an eye for that kind of thing.”

“That’s okay,” Katara says kindly. “I just want somebody’s honest opinion. Aang was supposed to help me with this, but I know he was just agreeing with me and telling me what I wanted to hear.”

It’s an odd thing, Zuko thinks, for her to say about her betrothed.

“I guess I can try.”

“Great!”

Zuko tells himself that the way Katara’s entire face lights up doesn’t warm the frozen cockles of his heart in the slightest. It’s a lie, but he’s going to have to live with it.

“How much do you know about the Secret Solstice Society’s yearly celebrations?”

“Some,” Zuko says. What he wants to say is, _Far more than I’d ever care to know_. Ty Lee and Azula make him attend every year.

“Well, you know about the Lantern Labyrinth, right?”

“Yes,” Zuko says. The rest slips out unbidden. “My girlfriend dumped me in the middle of it last year.”

Katara freezes. “Oh,” she says, looking flummoxed.

Zuko blinks at her, feeling the back of his neck burn with embarrassment.

“Is that why you hate the winter solstice?” she whispers.

Embarrassment turns to ancient anger. “No,” Zuko says stiffly. He doesn’t want to think about Ozai or the scar on his face or the way this girl looks at him in his entirety as opposed to one half of him or the other. “What’s with the paint and fabric?”

“Right.” Katara looks back at the smattering of hues as though she’s a little lost. It doesn’t take her long to find her bearings, though. She launches into her explanation with a degree of excitement that Zuko just doesn’t understand. “So the Jasmine Dragon is going to be the crown jewel of the solstice celebration this year. It’s the center of the labyrinth. There will be a huge party with local artists and artisans. We’ll raise money for charity and there will be thousands of candles _everywhere_.”

“Sounds like a fire hazard,” Zuko says. Then he mentally kicks himself for being a party pooper. She’s excited and he’s just a dick.

“We use LED candles,” Katara says with a smile, seemingly unfazed.

“Oh.”

“Anyway.” Katara waves away the digression. “Pakku put me in charge of the Jasmine Dragon and the labyrinth this year because he thought I could bring something new to it. And I thought I could do that with the color scheme. Green and gold is pretty, but it’s so…”

“Traditional?”

“Exactly.”

Zuko dusts the sugar from his hands and reaches to switch around some of the colors on the counter, shuffling pastels out of the mix and scrapping the white.

“I kind of liked the white,” Katara says.

“It’s winter,” Zuko replies. “There’s snow everywhere. You don’t need more of that.”

“Point taken.”

After some consideration of what’s left, Zuko selects a deep plum and a navy that’s nearly black, sliding them in front of Katara for her consideration. As he waits for her answer, she dives into her large leather tote bag and extracts a sprig of evergreen foliage and two metal ornaments in the shape of a golden sun and a silver moon. She sets them atop Zuko’s selected colors and a slow smile blossoms on her face.

“I think you’re better at this than you think you are, Zuko.”

He hopes so. Otherwise his art is shit.

“Aang seems nice,” he says as he returns to his attention to refilling the shakers.

“Yeah. He’s great.”

“How long have the two of you been together?”

Katara’s hands still over the supplies she’s been gathering together to put into her bag. “What?” she asks.

Zuko gestures vaguely to the pearlescent pendant borne by the strip of navy velvet around her throat before gathering his tray of shakers and setting out to place them back on the tables.

“No, I’m not… I’m not engaged.”

There is a shyness in the way she looks at him when he glances up from his task. Her cheeks are a little flushed. He thinks maybe he’s embarrassed her.

“I’m sorry. I thought that…”

“It was my mother’s necklace. And it belonged to my grandmother before that. It’s more of a memento than anything. A reminder to...pursue happiness.”

At a loss for how to respond, Zuko dips a nod before placing the last of the shakers on the tables. He feels stupid for not coming up with something to say, but he’s never been particularly eloquent, his interpersonal skills have never been what anyone would call _great_ , and asking any further questions just seems impertinent. Finding himself the object of others’ curiosity has never been his favorite thing and he likes not to subject other people to the sort of needling and questioning that bothers him.

As Zuko begins to gather his things, zipping his jacket and disconnecting his phone from the sound system, Katara continues, saying, “And I’m not seeing Aang. He’s just like that.”

He can’t help the way an eyebrow leaps up his forehead and quickly tries to school his face back into neutrality as he cuts the lights and they step out of the Jasmine Dragon.

“What?” Katara says.

“What?” he parrots, concentrating harder on locking the doors than he needs to.

“What was with that look?”

“There wasn’t a look.”

“Yes, there was!” Katara dives into his line of sight, pinning him with a Look. “What are you getting at, Zuko?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Zuko says, stepping off in the direction of his apartment. When Katara follows after him, he stares at her. “Are you following me?”

“I _live_ in this direction,” she says irritably. “Don’t change the subject. You did a _thing_ with your eyebrow.”

“Maybe that’s just how my face is.”

“It is _not_ just how your face is! Seriously, tell me. What was with that look?”

Zuko huffs a perturbed sigh, pulling to a stop outside of a bookshop whose windows twinkle with fairy lights wound through evergreen garland. “I don’t know many guys who act that way around women they aren’t interested in,” he finally bites out.

Katara blinks, takes half a step backward as though he has just upturned her entire world. Then her expression shifts and she sniffs, turning up her nose a little bit.

“Oh, because you know _so much_ about my friendship with Aang that you can make that judgement call.”

“I didn’t say that I did. Maybe I’m wrong. You’d know better than I would.”

Zuko sets off again and Katara follows after him a moment later, quick enough to pull even without much effort. She’s quiet for several long minutes, pensive, and he can’t help but wonder if he’s pushed too far. He thinks that if he did, she might not have caught up to him, but stays just as silent as she is. Their boots crunch over ice and through drifts of snow.

“Spirits,” Katara says finally. “I think you might be right.”

Zuko’s heart drops inexplicably into a bottomless pit that opens up in his stomach. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye, wary. Her mouth is a little ‘O’ of shock, her eyes are wide.

“I’m so stupid.”

“I wouldn’t go _that_ far.”

“No, I _am_ ,” she argues. “I thought he was just being _nice_. He’s nice to everyone, so I thought… Oh, Tui…”

“Weren’t we just operating under the fact that I’m too much of an outsider to know anything about this? We just met five days ago, so…”

“I have to talk to him about this.”

“Why is that?”

“So I can tell him that I’m not… That I don’t…”

“Whoa,” Zuko says, putting a hand on Katara’s shoulder to bring her to a stop and feeling pity for Aang strike through his heart. “If you’re just going to break his heart, maybe you should wait for him to tell you on his terms.”

“But he has to know.”

“Yeah, but if you just spring it on him out of nowhere, it’s a double blow to his ego. Like, ‘Hey, not only did I figure you out, but I also don’t feel the same.’”

“Is the male ego that fragile?”

“Isn’t _everyone’s_?” Zuko says. “Imagine how you would feel if someone did that to you.”

Katara sighs, her breath puffing out in a crystalline cloud of air. “You’re right.” Her eyes dart around the deserted street before finding Zuko’s. “Well, anyway. I’m not seeing Aang. And I wouldn’t want people to think I am.”

Zuko’s heart rabbits out of the pit in his stomach and back into his chest cavity, and he can’t help but wonder if she meant it the way it sounded. There is a pink flush spread across her cheekbones that could very well be from the bite of the cold night air, but the way she’s looking at him feels deliberate.

“I guess you’re just going to have to clarify that to the people you don’t want assuming that then,” he says.

Katara smirks. “I thought I just did,” she replies.

Even Zuko is not so dense that he doesn’t miss the undercurrent her words carry forth with them. The corner of his mouth twitches in the barest of smirks and Katara’s turns into a brilliant smile that renders him speechless.

“I live that way,” she says, pointing to the left.

“Would you like me to walk you the rest of the way?”

“Maybe another night. It’s not that far and I know how to defend myself if need be.”

“Okay.”

Katara takes a few steps backwards and he watches her, hands shoved in his coat pockets, the smirk still plastered to his face. “I’ll stop by the Jasmine Dragon on Thursday,” she says.

“You can,” Zuko says. “But I won’t be there. I never work on Thursdays.”

She halts in her departure. “Saturday?”

“Nope. Tuesdays are a no-go as well.”

Katara tilts her head and gives him a sort of appraising look. “What do you do with so much time off?” she asks.

He shrugs. “Stuff.”

“Descriptive.”

“It’s personal.” The words sound strange and Zuko feels his face burn. “Not in a gross way!”

“I get it,” Katara says. Her smile turns understanding. “There are some things you keep just for yourself.”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe you’ll share a little more about it with me someday,” she says. Then, she flutters her gloved fingers in a wave. “Goodnight, Zuko.”

“Bye.”

Katara turns and walks away, her steps light and almost like a dancer’s as she expertly navigates the icy, snowy sidewalks. Though the streets are deserted and well-lit by lamps, he watches until she turns a corner and disappears from his sight. He turns towards home, then, keyed up and flattered. For the first time in a decade or more, the sight of evergreen wreaths and candles in windows doesn’t needle at the tender, aching memories he carries in his soul and he can almost look at them without scowling.

* * *

On Thursday, Zuko meets up with Sokka and Suki for lunch as his scheduled day at the studio puts him in close proximity to both of them. He meets up with Sokka a few blocks away from the studio, outside of the building in which the Water Tribesman’s architecture firm is housed, and they walk together to Suki’s chosen restaurant, a cafe with a clean, white interior and a giant flower hanging over the fireplace. They each place an order at the counter and then join Suki at a table near the windows where she sits watching the snow fall, a cup of coffee in hand.

“So,” Sokka says as they dig into their food, “why did you ditch me last Friday night?”

“He was heartbroken,” Suki says teasingly. “Absolutely despondent.” When Sokka sticks his tongue out at her, she laughs.

“I should just start hiding at your place every Friday from now on,” Zuko says. “Azula and Ty Lee made me go out with them.”

“Gross,” she says. “Why?”

“Something about it being a year since Mai dumped me and the fact that I have no romantic prospects. It culminated in nothing. Ty Lee let Azula get shitfaced and we had to take her home. She was trying to fight this guy with arms the size of tree trunks.”

“Your sister fucking sucks,” Sokka interjects before shoving half of his sandwich in his mouth. 

“You know,” Suki’s voice is thoughtful as she picks apart a piece of bread, “Sokka’s sister is single and—”

Sokka lets out an indignant squawk.

“Wha—She _is_ , Sokka!”

“ _No_ ,” Sokka says and Zuko chuckles. “ _No_ sister talk. Zuko and I have a strict no sisters pact.”

“A no sis—What are you, _five_?”

“The No Sisters Pact is specific and intentional,” Sokka says, gesturing with a fry. “ _I_ never ask _Zuko_ questions about his sister because she’s the actual worst and in return, _Zuko_ will never ask about, go near, meet, or even see _mine_ . Because sisters _suck_.”

“Spirits, you _are_ ,” Suki says, eyes wide with disbelief. She looks between the two of them as if seeing them in an entirely new light—one that is not entirely flattering. “You’re both five years old.”

Zuko shrugs, unperturbed by her incredulity. “It’s worked for us for five years. I don’t see a reason to stop now.”

“You’re both a couple of idiots,” Suki says. She looks at her boyfriend. “Is that why you won’t let me hang up any of your family pictures around the house?”

“Zuko doesn’t even know her name,” Sokka says around a mouthful of food.

The expression on Suki’s face morphs from one of astonishment to one that is mildly impressed. “You’re kidding me,” she says.

“Nuh uh.”

“You’ve had this pact for the entire duration of your friendship—since college—and you’ve never slipped up?”

“Nope.”

“Not even once?”

“Not. Even. _Once_.”

“I didn’t know it was _possible_ for you to keep a secret.”

“I’m a man of many talents, Suki, my love.”

“Regardless,” Suki says, turning her starry eyes back to Zuko, “Sokka’s sister _is_ single and she’s a total hottie.”

“She is _recently_ single and she is _fragile_ ,” Sokka says sternly, pointing his fork at his friend. “And you will not go near her because you are simultaneously not good _enough_ and _far too good_ for her.”

“I wasn’t asking to,” Zuko says. “Suki was the one who brought this up.”

“And I stand by it. She is _far_ from fragile.” Suki flicks her auburn bangs out of her eyes. “She’s a badass. If you ever decide you want to forget this stupid pact, I’ll set you up with her.” When Sokka begins to protest, she adds, “I can do that because aside from being Sokka’s sister, she’s also _my_ best friend and I can set her up with anyone I deem worthy. Provided that she wants me to.”

“That’s nice of you, Suki, but I’m not interested.”

To Zuko’s relief, Suki drops the subject and the trio moves on to other topics. One of the things he likes best about Sokka and Suki is the way they keep his family history in mind and avoid the subject of the winter solstice. It had taken Sokka a couple of years to adjust to it, but he’d subtly and quickly looped Suki in the moment he started dating her. Instead of focusing on the impending holiday, Suki tells stories about her annoying colleagues and Sokka describes in vivid, colorful detail the building he’s been asked to help design for Ba Sing Se University.

Zuko listens to their tales and doesn’t tell them about Katara or the work Uncle is forcing him to do with her and the Secret Solstice Society. Katara had made it clear that the project and her involvement were to be kept secret. And, despite the turn Monday night had taken, he isn’t positive there’s anything to bring up regarding the blue-eyed brunette. Though it would be nice to get Sokka and Suki’s opinions on the matter (Suki tends to give wonderful, accurate advice), Zuko decides to remain mum and allows the conversation to be steered into clearer, safer waters as he finishes his lunch.

* * *

When Zuko gets back to the studio, he can hear the frenetic, rattling sound of Toph’s potter’s wheel as it spins away. He reaches up to tap the bell above the door that will alert Toph to his presence and sheds his snow-dusted coat. The studio is delightfully toasty and the winter sunlight that filters through the windows is gentle and quiet.

“Hey, Sparky,” Toph calls, a big grin stretched across her pixieish face. “How’s kicks?”

A smile of his own twitches at the corner of Zuko’s mouth as he dumps his coat, phone, and wallet on an empty table. He and Toph have shared space in the studio for years, building up an easy camaraderie and a routine based on innate trust. Zuko is the only person Toph trusts to help her fire her pieces and he likes sharing a space with her because she gives him the privacy he needs to work in his own art without feeling judged or watched. She’s a tough cookie, too, and takes no guff from anyone. In a way, she reminds him of Azula. Only relatively well-adjusted and somehow softer. Not that Toph would ever want to be called soft.

“Haven’t seen you in a few weeks, Toph,” Zuko says. “Get sucked into the black hole that’s the Beifong compound again?”

Toph rolls her milky eyes and gazes vaguely off into space as she works to shape the clay on her wheel. “You go home for a week to visit and they somehow guilt you into two,” she says.

“How’s Lao?”

“Shitty as usual. Poppy’s great. I think she might actually leave him soon.”

Zuko pauses to take in the unperturbed smoothness of his friend’s face. “That’s rough, Champ,” he says, the bitterness of his own parents’ split a dark blemish in his voice.

But Toph only makes a sort of noncommittal sound and says, “I think they’ll both be better off for it in all honesty. Neither of them have ever been happy.”

“Still,” Zuko offers. “If you ever need a friend.”

“Thanks, Sparky. I might take you up on that.”

They leave it at that. Toph returns her full attention to the mass of clay on her wheel and Zuko pops his earbuds into his ears. He selects his preferred drawing playlist, cranks the volume, and puts his phone on vibrate so that he won’t be disturbed by any stray notifications that might come in. With Friday so close, he dreads that Azula and Ty Lee might scheme to get him out of the house again.

Settling onto a stool, Zuko sharpens one of his pencils and considers the lines of the piece he’s been working on for the past few weeks. It is a gift for Uncle, a portrait of the man and his lost son, Lu Ten. The basic structure of the piece is almost done and Zuko will move on to painting soon. If he can manage to get his cousin’s nose right.

The glide of his pencil over the paper and the soothing melodies of his chosen playlist lure Zuko into the world of lines spiraling and striking out beneath the tip of graphite. Though the light in the room shifts and Toph is puttering around somewhere outside of his peripheral vision, Zuko’s golden eyes remain fixed on his sketch as it inches towards perfection. He’s just nearly gotten Lu Ten’s nose right when something wet and slimy splatters against his cheek, knocking one of his earbuds out mid flight.

“What the fuck, Toph?!”

Zuko is off the stool and wiping the murky slip off the ridges of his scar in a flash. Always quick to anger after what happened with his father so many years ago, he’s ready to explode at the tiny potter. Then he sees the panicked look on his friend’s face and the fury ebbs away.

“I didn’t hit your drawing, did I?” she asks.

“No. You definitely got me.”

Toph’s shoulders lose tension as she lets out a nearly indistinguishable sigh of relief. “Good.” She straightens up and jabs a slimy finger in the direction of the table Zuko dumped his things on. “Then answer your damn phone. Someone’s blowing it up and it’s _driving me insane_.”

As Toph returns to affixing a handle to what is now recognizably a teapot, Zuko snatches a stray rag and wipes his cheek and fingers free of the slip. Across the room, he can see that the screen of his phone is lit up and there are text notifications waiting to be opened. For a moment, he vacillates between ignoring whoever is trying to contact him or giving in before he finally decides on the latter with a somewhat put out sigh. Uncle or Mother could be trying to track him down.

Much to Zuko’s chagrin, the messages are from Ty Lee and Azula who are attempting to entice him into yet another night out with them on Friday. He is typing out a response that there is a _fat chance of that after last week_ when a call from Katara pops up and the phone begins buzzing incessantly in his palm. Zuko hesitates for only a moment, heart in his throat as he stares dumbly at her name.

“Spirits, Zuko!” Toph shouts. “Just answer it!”

“Shut up,” Zuko hisses before pressing his phone to his ear. “Katara?”

“Hey.”

Her voice is so like a siren’s, calling to him over the line and tugging at the tethers of his soul. He’s glad that Toph can’t see his face, because he’s fairly positive that one word has caused him to go beet red. Katara’s face flashes through his memory, pink cheeks and snow dusted curls illuminated by eyes like blue lightning.

“Um. Hi.”

“Are you working tomorrow night?”

“Ah, no. I’ve got the seven to three shift if you’re looking to stop by.”

“No, that actually wasn’t why I was asking,” Katara says. “Um…”

Warmth blooms somewhere in Zuko’s sternum as he realizes his folly. Katara has never called him to arrange meetings for the festival. Everything has been done via text. That warmth in his chest turns into a series of sparks and his grip on the phone turns slippery as sweat beads on his palm.

“Have you ever been to the crystal catacombs?”

“No.”

“Would you, um…” Katara’s voice takes on a slightly squeaky quality. “Would you like to go? With me?”

The sparks catch and kindle into a raging fire. But…

“I have plans with a friend tomorrow night,” Zuko says, squeezing his eyes closed and pinching the bridge of his nose. Sokka would truly be hurt if Zuko bailed on him two weeks in a row. “We were supposed to hang out last week, but I couldn’t and…”

“Oh. That’s okay,” Katara says. Her voice is odd and sounds breathy.

Zuko sends up a silent swear to Agni. “How about Saturday?” he asks.

There is a pause that seems to stretch on for eternity. His heart is beating harder than a taiko drum.

“Aren’t you busy on Saturdays?”

“I can make time for you.”

Those words are, quite possibly, the smoothest Zuko has ever said, but they still roll off of his tongue with alarming over-eagerness. Had it been this awkward with Mai in the beginning? Had there been fumbled words and misunderstandings? He doubts it. Azula had orchestrated the whole thing.

“Saturday sounds great,” Katara says and a smile twitches at the corners of Zuko’s mouth. “How is four o’clock?”

Zuko spares a glance at Lu Ten’s unfinished nose and the array of paints sprawled out on the table next to the drawing.

“Works for me.”

After working out a place to meet Katara, Zuko hangs up, feeling inexplicably more hopeful and positive than he has in a decade. It must be the effect of her personality, he surmises, that alluring, effortless kindness that gives almost no indication of the headstrong drive that churns beneath the surface. What inspired her interest in him of all people, Zuko isn’t certain, but he’s not about to let this opportunity slip away.

As Zuko turns to head back to his drawing, he is stopped in his tracks by the shit-eating grin sprawled across Toph’s face. He shoots her a scowl that she doesn’t see and says, “Not a word.”

But Toph has _plenty_ of words. Teasing, cackling, sister-like words. And she doesn’t let up until they part ways at the door of the studio later that evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I once read a fic where Toph was a potter or a ceramicist and it immediately became my AU headcanon for her. Unfortunately, I can't remember the author or the fic. If anyone knows, drop me a line!
> 
> Anyway, I know this chapter was a bit all over the place, but I hope you liked it! Sokka and Zuko's pact is the silliest thing I could come up with. This story is meant to be the antithesis of LIYS, so I'm not trying to take it too seriously. I want to have some fun with it.
> 
> As always, I adore hearing from all of you! xx


	4. In Which Katara is Blindsided

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm supposed to be writing things for real life. I'm not supposed to be playing around in my Zutara universes. But...here I am.

* * *

Twenty-Two Days Until the Solstice

* * *

Winters in Ba Sing Se always seem soft and delicate to Katara after her upbringing in the South Pole. Streets and sidewalks slicked over with ice and dusted with frothy flakes of snow are nothing compared to winters hunkered down in the house through days-long blizzards. The winds in the big city are nowhere near as knife-sharp as the winds at home. Nevertheless, she spends most of Friday morning before her meeting with Pakku watching snow fall with dreamy eyes, chin propped in her hand. She should be calling vendors or trying to get in contact with the artists she’s trying to recruit. Instead, she’s thinking of sharp golden eyes framed by inky strands of snow-flecked hair.

“Hey.”

Suki’s bangs and luminous grey eyes pop over the divider that makes up their cubicles, erupting through Katara’s vision of Zuko’s own face like a finger popping a soap bubble.

“I’m dragging here,” Suki continues. “Can we go get some coffee or something?”

The silent landline and endlessly blank hours before the meeting are all the permission Katara needs to agree, feeling once again vindicated about her tendency to over prepare days in advance of things like this. Given how past solstice celebrations have been mismanaged, Pakku will be delighted by how much progress Katara has made on designs and communications in only a week’s time.

“Let’s go,” she says, grabbing her coat from the back of her chair and standing.

White Lotus Relations is buzzing more than it usually is on Fridays given its high-profile clientele and the heavy docket of upcoming holiday events. Suki and Katara are forced to dodge a rather persistent assistant who has a reporter on the line asking questions about one of the companies in Suki’s care. He follows them at a trot, calling the auburn-haired woman’s name as though she hadn’t heard the initial barrage of syllables.

“Take a message!” she calls to the assistant who stares helplessly on as the elevator doors close. As the elevator begins its descent, she asks, “How’s your secret project coming?”

Katara thinks of her plans for the following evening and tries not to grin. “Better than expected,” she replies.

“I still don’t understand why you can’t fill me in on what Pakku’s asked you to do.”

It’s the most pressing issue between the two friends lately. Katara and Suki have never been the type to keep secrets, so the fact that Katara can’t share details on the Secret Solstice Society has caused an irritating thorn of tension to wriggle its way in between them.

“Twenty-two days,” Katara says. “Give me twenty-two days and I can tell you.”

“Why twenty-two? What’s the significance of that?”

They step out of the elevator and into the lobby of the building, their heeled boots clacking across the white marble floors. Outside the wall of glass doors, Katara can see that today’s snowstorm has begun to pick up in volume, if not yet in velocity. She tightens the knot of the belt that holds her wrap coat closed.

“I told you,” she says rather resignedly. “That’s when Pakku said I could tell you.”

A perturbed frown wrinkles Suki’s brow, but she stops pressing the subject.

Without the need for discussion, the two women turn toward the Modern Magnolia, the windchill and the slushy sidewalks making the few blocks’ walk what Katara would deem ‘mildly uncomfortable.’ It feels nice to get out of the office, though, and to stretch her legs. She’s been distracted all day, anticipatory nerves keying her up. The way Suki keeps glancing at her sidelong as they walk down the street makes her wonder if her jitters are evident.

It’s been a long time since she’s been on a first date. After spending three tumultuous years stuck in a cycle of on-again off-again drama with Jet, Katara is surprised to find that she’s actually happy she’d taken the lead with Zuko. Giving him her number, asking him out… All of it had been easier than she’d anticipated. Even the unexpected run-in with Azula and the unpleasant heebie jeebies that had accompanied that event hadn’t deterred her. She liked knowing that she was taking charge of the start of this, that she wasn’t unknowingly subjecting herself to another three years of living in limbo and never truly knowing where she stood.

Of course, she's still running the risk of a broken heart. Zuko could very well turn out to be the exact opposite of the shy, kind soul he’d revealed himself to be in fits and starts. Her tentative conclusion that he is nothing like Jet could be completely wrong. It doesn't seem that way, though. There is something of a kindred spirit in him that had pulled her in from the first time their eyes had met.

“Suki,” she says as she holds open the door to the Modern Magnolia for her friend, “you can stare at me all you want, but I’m not going to tell you about what Pakku asked me to work on.”

They place their orders with Song and then move to the side to wait for their drinks, shedding their coats and scoping for a table in the shop. There is an empty one next to the fireplace, likely recently vacated if the smattering of crumbs is any clue. Katara sets about wiping the table down while Suki fetches their drinks, and then they settle into the chairs.

“I wasn’t trying to stare,” Suki says apologetically. “I was just thinking that it’s been a while since you and Jet split up for good.”

Katara feels a frown prick at the corners of her lips. “Yeah,” she says. “And?”

“ _And_ I was just wondering if you’ve been seeing anyone new. Not that you have to be!”

“Why?”

“No reason,” Suki says with all the air of someone who very much _has_ a reason. Under the force of Katara’s unamused raised eyebrow, she caves. “Fine, _fine_. I think that you should get out there again. You know, try things out with someone who’s sweet and driven and caring—”

Heart plummeting into her stomach, Katara can’t help but recall Zuko’s revelation about Aang the other night. “Suki,” she says warily, “if this is about Aang, I’m _really_ not—”

“This is _not_ about Aang,” Suki cuts in. “But hold on! Side note: You know about Aang?”

Katara groans and runs a hand over her face. “Does _everyone_ know about Aang?”

“Everyone but you.”

“Lovely.” Katara sighs and slumps back in her seat, arms folded over her chest. “I can’t believe nobody ever told me. How long has this been going on?”

“I think the exact word Sokka used was ‘forever.” Sympathy is written across Suki’s lightly freckled face. “How’d you figure it out?”

“Someone said something.”

“Who?”

“A stranger.”

It’s not a total lie. Not really. She knows hardly anything about Zuko, especially given how much he likes to maintain an air of aloofness. He amounts to nothing other than a completely objective third-party observer when it comes to her and Aang.

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” Katara says. “What am I _supposed_ to do? Make a preemptive strike on breaking his heart?”

“Fair point.”

They fall into silence for a long while, their lack of conversation an anomaly in the crowded coffee shop. Katara allows herself a moment to brood over her own obliviousness, paper cup cradled in her palms. She feels absurdly stupid for not seeing it sooner and can’t help but wonder if Aang will blame her for leading him on when the day for clarity comes. She hasn’t, she thinks. Not knowingly, at least. But she’s been blind enough not to deter every long-lingering hug or arm around the shoulders.

“Hey,” Suki says after a few quiet minutes. Her voice carries the lilt of a well-meaning friend about to offer unnecessary consolation.

“Don’t use that tone of voice with me,” Katara warns.

“What tone?”

“That really sympathetic one! Suki, I’m _fine_. Really.”

“I’m not saying you’re not,” Suki counters. “I was going to propose an idea.”

Katara quirks an eyebrow.

“What are you doing tonight?”

“I have a meeting at four-thirty and a supremely sexy pile of laundry waiting for me at home. Why?”

“You should come hang out tonight!”

“ _Ooh_ ,” Katara says sarcastically. “ _Tempting_. Laundry or being the third wheel to my best friend and my brother. How will I _ever_ choose?”

“No, no, no,” Suki rushes to continue. “Sokka has a friend coming over tonight and I think you two might get along.”

Revulsion. Utter revulsion. It courses through Katara’s veins and she gags in the way a child might when presented with something she hates. She’s _met_ Sokka’s friends. They’re a gaggle of ill-mannered, poorly-dressed, fart-and-burp-contest-having _dweebs_. When she tells her friend so, though, the auburn-haired woman is quick to chuckle.

“He’s my friend, too, Katara,” Suki says. “You’d _really_ like him. I’m sure of it! He’s got that brooding, mysterious thing you like going on, but he’s the furthest from Jet you could possibly get. He’s so sweet and—”

“Why haven’t you mentioned him before now?” Katara interrupts.

“Up until a year ago, he was in a relationship. And you were with Jet! There wasn’t a reason to bring him up.”

Katara takes a moment to size Suki up. Her friend is all earnestness, her grey eyes wide with delight and sparkling with genuine excitement. If Sokka weren’t a factor, Katara might consider it. But even then…

“Suki,” she says, “I have a date tomorrow night.”

“Ah. Hence the sexy pile of Friday night laundry.”

“Yes.”

“Do tell.”

Katara falters, eyes dropping to her hands, fingers picking at the lid of her coffee cup. Maybe she’s said too much. There’s only so much she can tell Suki without giving away her involvement with the Secret Solstice Society. It’s a secret for a reason. Katara doesn’t want to rob her friend of the magic of the season.

Suki huffs. “You’re insanely tight-lipped lately, Katara,” she says. “And if you think I’m the only one who’s noticed, you’re wrong. Sokka thinks you’re acting weird too.”

“I’m not trying to keep secrets,” Katara protests. “I promise.”

Her words are met with an unconvinced blink.

“Look, I’m just not certain how much I can tell you yet.”

“Why?”

“It’s complicated,” Katara says. “We met through work.”

Realization dawns on Suki’s face, her mouth dropping into a little ‘O’ of understanding. “Is it that new guy in accounting?” she asks, then slides her finger between her mouth and her nose like a moustache. “Harustache?”

Katara snorts and tries not to laugh. “Suki,” she says, voice full of reproach but threatening to break into giggles, “that’s _mean_.”

“Is it him?”

“No.”

“Then who is it?”

“Nobody you would know,” Katara says.

“White Lotus isn’t that big, Katara. I know mostly everyone there.”

“I never said I met him _at_ work. I said that I met him _through_ work.”

The brunette studies her friend for a moment, debating how much detail she can go into without revealing more than she should. Suki always has been keen, though, and peers back just as sharply into Katara’s own face, eyes narrowing slightly as she thinks and assesses.

“You met him through Pakku’s thing, didn’t you?”

Katara sighs. “Yes,” she says.

“And that’s why you can’t share much?”

“Yes.”

Suki’s mouth pulls to the side in sharp skepticism before she sips at her drink, and the need to explain herself rises up in Katara’s soul like high tide. While she isn’t positive that Suki will like Zuko at first, she’s confident her friend will come around. Especially when the Jet prejudice subsides.

“He’s… He’s tenacious,” Katara explains softly. “And he’s kind of…stoic.”

“ _Jet_ ,” Suki says.

Katara’s hackles rise. “Jet was _obsessive_ and _paranoid_ ,” she bites back.

“Tenacity and obsession kind of go hand in hand, Katara. Look at you! You’re one of the hardest working people I know, but you’re a little crazy about it. How long have you been prepared for this meeting with Pakku today?”

Katara frowns.

“Exactly,” Suki says.

“Jet was obsessive in a bad way.”

“Oh, _nobody_ is going to argue with you there.”

“This guy _isn’t_ ,” Katara insists.

“Have you known him long enough to make that determination?”

“Suki,” Katara says. “I know that you and Sokka are worried about me after everything that happened with Jet, but I’m honestly in a good place. And I’m capable of finding someone new without assistance. I have a good feeling about this guy, I _promise_. He’s kind of shy and he’s introverted. He seems to really care about his friends and family.”

“I know someone exactly like that who is, like, ninety percent normal _and_ has a good head on his shoulders.”

“I’m not dating someone Sokka is friends with, Suki. I know all of his friends and they’re all terrible.”

“That’s just the point,” Suki says, leaning forward. “You _don’t_ know this friend. Sokka has never introduced the two of you. I doubt you’ve ever even heard his name.”

Katara lets out a disbelieving laugh that attracts the stares of their neighboring cafe patrons. “What are you saying?” she says. “That Sokka has a secret friend I don’t know about?”

“Yes.”

Laughter fizzling out, Katara stares into her friend’s serious eyes and frowns. “I don’t believe you,” she says. “Sokka can’t keep secrets. He’s physically incapable.”

“I’m serious. I found out yesterday.”

“To be fair,” Katara says, frowning, “you’re also friends with this person and have never mentioned him to me up until now.”

Suki waves that fact away with a dismissive hand. “You were both taken and he’s more Sokka’s friend than mine,” she says. “But that’s not the point.”

“Which is what?”

“Sokka has deliberately kept you and this guy from meeting.”

“My brother wouldn’t do that.”

“I’m telling you, he _did_. He and this guy have some sort of weird, juvenile pact where they don’t talk to each other about their sisters.”

Something in Katara’s throat tightens and grows hard. Her view of the crisp white interior of the Modern Magnolia swims in front of her suddenly blurry eyes. “Sokka’s...hiding me?” she whispers.

“ _No_ , Katara,” Suki says, reaching out to grab the other woman’s hand. “ _No_. I didn’t mean it like that. And Sokka would _never_.”

“Yeah, but he _is_.” The words come out garbled and tear-choked. To think that her own brother is ashamed or embarrassed of her—!

“Sokka loves you more than anything or anyone on the face of this planet, Katara. But I think that he hasn’t introduced you to this guy because he’s scared. If the conversation the three of us had yesterday is anything to go on, Sokka thinks you and this guy would actually hit it off.”

“Why would that scare him?”

Suki’s answering smile is quick to spread across her glossed lips. “Because this is the one person that Sokka would ever approve of for you,” she says. “And I know that you don’t need or want Sokka’s approval of your romantic partners, but I’m fairly positive that he hasn’t introduced the two of you because he knows that that would be, y’know… _It_. Any other excuse he gives is just a ridiculous attempt at posturing and is toxic masculinity at its finest.”

“I’m barely twenty-three, Suki. I just spent the last three years in emotional hell,” Katara says. “I’m not looking for _it_.”

“Oh, honey,” Suki says with a knowing smile. “ _You_ don’t find _it_. _It_ finds _you_.”

Katara rolls her eyes. “ _La_ , you’re corny.”

“Hey, it found _me_. And, trust me, I did _not_ expect _it_ to be _your brother_. But here we are.”

A quick succession of work emails light up the lock screen on Katara’s phone. Without needing to mention it, both women rise from their seats and begin bundling back into their outerwear. Katara is grateful for the distraction. She isn’t quite sure how to process the revelation about Sokka. Torn between still feeling offended and wanting to shove it off as the priggishness associated with most Water Tribe men, Katara scoops up her coffee cup and follows Suki out the door of the Modern Magnolia.

“Look,” Suki says as they step out into the snow, “I understand why you wouldn’t want to meet this guy. I really do. So, by all means, go on your date tomorrow. Just think about it. I know we make fun of Sokka and his instincts, but I’ve got a feeling too.”

And because she knows Suki won’t take any other answer, Katara sighs and says, “Fine. But I’m not making any promises.”

She can't. Because when she recalls the eager, tender way Zuko had said _I can make time for you_ , she’s absolutely positive that she won’t be thinking about what Suki said at all.

* * *

The meeting with Pakku goes well, just as expected. Though there had been rumors of nepotism when his step-granddaughter had first been hired on at White Lotus, any suspicions had quickly been quashed thanks in large part to Katara's clear skill and talent. Pakku's refusal to give anyone anything but tough love hadn't hurt matters either. The Secret Solstice Society was Pakku's way of giving back to the community without drawing attention to himself. Katara admired that about him. So being asked to head up the most important part of it had been an offer she couldn't refuse.

Faced with Katara's meticulously organized binders of information and plans, Pakku had had no notes for her during their meeting. He'd seemed a little wary of the more modern color scheme that Zuko had helped devise, but had said nothing. Had he been outright against it, he would have said so. Thus, Katara had walked out of the meeting with Pakku feeling victorious and ready to tackle the next phase of her plan.

Katara’s four-thirty meeting was meant to be with a local artist known for her chic, unique vases, tea sets, and dinnerware. Given the setting of the end of this year’s Lantern Labyrinth, she’s keen to have the woman donate some pieces for auction and a few sets for use throughout the night. She’d done her homework for the meeting, looking closely at the swooping lines and clean edges of the platters, bowls, and cups, and doing some digging into the artist herself.

Her research, it appears, was lacking.

Upon reading that the artist was the daughter of the governor of Gaoling, Katara had arrived five minutes early, anticipating that the woman would be early herself. She was now nearly thirty minutes late.

The lobby of the art collective the woman worked with is interesting enough for Katara to pass some time, however, and she’d been assured by someone else that Toph Beifong would be with her as soon as possible. So she tries not to count the minutes sliding past as she meaders her way through the displays of earthenware, abstract paintings, and one video that is a little unsettling and she doesn’t quite understand. On the verge of giving up and rescheduling, Katara’s eye is captured by a watercolor piece hidden away in the back corner of the lobby.

Despite her talent with drawing, Katara has never considered herself much of an artist. She’s good with interiors and rudimentary designs. The artist behind the hidden painting is so much more talented than she could ever aspire to be. She is utterly beholden to the blooming colors that make up the painting, the way each leaf seems to be individual, how the blossoming flowers on the cherry trees seem so lifelike. A Fire Nation temple stands in the background, seeming to grow up out of the trees. It’s breathtaking. Somehow fragile in its reality while seeming so tangible at the same time.

A search for the artist’s signature yields nothing, though. The painting’s corresponding label holds only a title and no name.

Someone clears their throat loudly. Katara wheels around to find herself looking down into the pixieish face of a dark-haired woman who looks rather perturbed.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes. “I didn’t mean to get too close to the art or anything, I’m supposed to be meeting Toph Beifong.”

“Well, you’ve found her.” The dark-haired woman gazes off over Katara’s shoulder and raises a pinky finger to dig in her ear. The nail is crusted with grayish clay. Katara realizes belatedly that the other woman isn’t staring over her shoulder—she’s blind.

“You’re—”

“Blind? Yup.”

Katara’s face flushes. “That wasn’t what I was going to say,” she mutters.

“I know.” Toph’s face splits apart in a sort of manic grin. “But I like starting off on that foot. It throws people off and makes the artistry of my pieces seem all the more magnificent. You’re the crazy lady who sent me, like, five hundred emails?”

“It was _five_ emails,” Katara corrects.

“Yeah, yeah. Yadda, yadda.”

Toph is smirking. Katara feels distinctly as though the artist is trying to get under her skin on purpose. Which is no doubt accurate given her declared penchant for throwing people off. The tribeswoman draws herself to her full height, determined to start over.

“My name is Katara. I’m working with the Secret Solstice Society.”

“So I managed to gather from your multiple emails.”

Katara grits her teeth and tries not to scowl. “We would like to ask you to donate some pieces for an event we’ll be putting on in celebration,” she says tersely. If the woman weren’t so damn talented, Katara would be revoking any implied invitation given before this. She’d be turning on her boot heel and marching out of here…

“Okay.”

“What?” Katara blinks, blindsided by the quick acquiescence.

“Sure.”

“O-oh. Thank you.”

“Email me a list of things you want,” Toph says, taking a few dismissive steps towards the studios. “If you want things in a matter of days, I don’t have time to waste standing around here talking.”

“We haven’t discussed payment,” Katara says.

“There is none. I know that. Your emails very clearly stated that this would be for charity.”

“Are you sure you don’t need more information?” Katara calls as Toph turns to leave.

The artist’s shoulders heave with an annoyed sigh. “Positive, Sugar Queen. Just get me your list.”

“Right.” Katara’s eyes wander back towards the painting she’d been admiring. “Before you go, um…”

Toph turns around and Katara notices that her eyes are a little filmy, turning the iris a lovely seafoam green that seems too delicate for someone with such an abrasive personality.

“Can you tell me who did this painting? The gansai one with the cherry trees?”

The little artist pauses and takes half a step back in Katara’s direction, her head tilting to the side as a curious, half-amused smile tilts at her mouth. “You don’t know?” she queries.

“There’s no name.”

“Huh.” Toph folds her arms over her chest. “Funny. I thought that particular artist might have referred you to me.”

“No,” Katara says. “I found you through the Modern Magnolia. I love the sculpture you did. The one that hangs over the fireplace there.”

“Yeah. I don’t do many sculptures. That was a special request. Well,” she waves and turns away once more, “see ya!”

“Wait!” Katara says somewhat desperately. “The name of the artist who painted this? I’d like to see if they’re willing to donate some work as well.”

“I’m not allowed to give out his name,” Toph says. “He’s weird like that. But I’ll pass your information on to him. He’ll let you know if he’s interested.”

Katara watches, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, as Toph Beifong saunters away into the inner rooms of the building, her steps certain despite her cloudy eyes and lack of a cane. She feels disillusionment wash over her in a surreal wave, her expectations for meeting with the artist hopelessly dashed and her expectations of working together upended. Whatever follows will not be as she expected. That much is clear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm debating whether or not I should finally get back into Tumblr. I broke free of that site years ago, but I've really been missing it and I love the Zutara fandom. Thoughts?
> 
> This was a short chapter and I know I'll need to come back for some minor tweaks (nothing to the plot, just some issues I don't have the patience for at the moment), but hopefully it'll keep you going until the next update. I'm aiming for early next week. We'll finally get to see our babies on a first date!
> 
> (More Wind-Songs in progress and that Dadko piece I've been promising for...forever is also closer to completion and will join the pipeline in the future!)
> 
> Drop me a line below if you so wish! xx


	5. In Which Zuko is Smitten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this would be ready Monday. But then Monday was a holiday and my SO was off work, therefore nothing was accomplished. And then I thought I would have it finished on Tuesday, but Monday made me lose all track of time. When Wednesday rolled around, I was determined, but my brain was not. I got derailed making puff pastry.
> 
> But I finally finished this chapter.
> 
> Listen, I am just as bad at first dates as Zuko is. He and Katara are adorable, though, and I just wanted them to BOND. Because bonding in the catacombs in canon has to be paralleled in fic, right?

* * *

Twenty-One Days Until the Solstice

* * *

“I’ve lived in this city for twelve years. I can’t believe I didn’t know these catacombs existed,” Zuko says as he and Katara pause to take in the mystical grandeur of Old Ba Sing Se.

Hundreds of years old, the underground city has been preserved by archaeologists and stands now as a historical monument. The air is warmer down here than Zuko had expected given the time of year, but still chilly, each exhale a faint puff in front of his face illuminated by the ethereal, luminescent green glow of the crystals. Already he is making mental plans to come back here to sketch and paint on one of his days off of work. His gansai paints will capture the glow of the crystals beautifully. Despite the fact that he has yet to divulge his favorite hobby to her, Zuko feels somehow seen as though something in her recognized that part of him and urged her to invite him here.

“The Crystal Catacombs: Ba Sing Se’s hidden gem!” she jests.

Her dimpled face is so eager, so full of joy at her cheesy joke, that something in Zuko cracks open like an egg. His lips pull to the side in a smirk. Then he chuckles. Katara grins in response before nibbling down on her lower lip with a canine, a soft giggle shaking her shoulders. Whatever has cracked inside of him spills out giddy warmth. The blood running through his veins feels bubbly and buoyant. His hands, hidden in the pockets of his coat, tremble.

“My brother tells me that I should stop trying to make jokes,” Katara says. “Apparently I’m terrible at it.”

“No, that was funny. I liked it.”

Katara steps away from the exhibit they’d been looking at, a history of the settlers who founded Old Ba Sing Se, and begins walking down the shallow steps that lead to the plaza down below. Zuko follows after her, torn between looking through the windows of the crumbling houses and watching her. She is lithe and lovely, even in her heavy coat and snow boots, a soft scarf of blue yarn around her neck. His trembling hands itch to reach out and touch her. He holds back though, living half in the fear that she won’t be receptive and half in the fear that being touched by him will tarnish the shine of her ebullient personality.

“Do you have any other siblings?” Zuko asks.

“No, just my brother. Do you?”

“Just Azula.”

“Is she as much of a handful as she seems?”

“She can be nice,” Zuko says. As much time as he and Azula spend at odds, he has always been quick to get protective of her when people—outsiders—make assumptions about her behavior. “In her own way. We both have some...problems...expressing our emotions.”

Katara turns her head to look at him, a soft smile on her face. It’s strange to find no pity there, only a sense of kinship. “I know how that is,” she says. “My mom passed away when I was eight. It completely upended my world. For a long time, I expressed myself through anger and tears.”

“What helped you?”

“My grandmother taught me gratitude. We would make time to sit down together every day and list five things we were grateful for in the wake of her loss.”

“That sounds difficult.”

Zuko can’t help but feel absurd even trying to _think_ of one thing for which he is grateful. Sitting down with another person to list out multiple items of gratitude sounds embarrassing and revealing, painfully inauthentic, even.

“At first, I couldn’t even think of one thing to be thankful for,” Katara admits. “It was like I was stuck in the world as it was before Mom died and I was just missing out on everything that was still good. But I still had my brother and our dad, and there were still all of these beautiful things in life. The first sunrise after a long winter in the South Pole, baby otters… As soon as I found one thing to be thankful for, it became almost impossible not to notice at least one thing every day. Hard, sometimes, but never impossible.”

There is a little cart at the bottom of the cavern where tea and snacks are on sale. Katara tugs Zuko over to join the relatively short queue (one of the benefits, he notes, of being in the catacombs in winter). Her hand lingers on the crook of his arm as they stand side by side. She is still smiling, the gesture more radiant than the glow of the green crystals that stud and jut out of the walls and pillars around them. They order cups of jasmine tea and warm, sugary kkwabaegi, and Katara beats him to handing her card over for payment.

“You can pay next time,” she says with a wink that leaves Zuko momentarily stupefied. He has to hurry after her, doughnut clamped in his mouth, tea threatening to slosh onto his hand while he fumbles with the other to shove his wallet back in his pocket.

They find a little bench near the angular river that cuts through the plaza, munching on their treats and sipping their piping hot tea. There is a great, thunderous waterfall that feeds the river, somehow cascading during winter and adding to the magic of the place. Katara seems incapable of doing anything other than drinking the catacombs in, her blue eyes wide and wondering as they trace over the ancient city’s bones. Zuko watches her sidelong, trying not to notice the way his heart sits in his throat. When she finally turns her gaze back to him, he has to flick his own to the remains of the doughnut pinched between his fingers, hoping that his stare wasn’t too obvious.

“So do you like working at the Jasmine Dragon?”

“It’s alright,” Zuko says. “Uncle hopes that Azula and I will take over ownership one day, so he’s having us learn the business from the ground up.”

“Do you want that?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’m really no good at any part of it, but I owe Uncle a lot, so I’d be glad to do that for him.”

“Is there anything else you’d like to do?”

Zuko looks at Katara. In the light of the crystals, there is cinnamon sugar glittering on her nose and at the corner of her lips. Her face is open, curious, without judgement. Far different from the scorning way Mai had used to turn her nose up at his job.

“I like to draw,” he says quietly. “And paint.”

The sparkle from the crystals reflecting in Katara’s eyes seems to brighten. “Oh, that’s _great_!” she says. “How did you get into that?”

“Art therapy.”

The response is automatic and surprises Zuko. Shame and anger claw at his insides. He has to take a deep breath in order to force those vestiges of his childhood hurt down. They persist, though, and panic accompanies them in a manner of half a heartbeat, ugly and unyielding. Art has been his silent way of sharing for so long, but voicing how he discovered that particular talent with people outside of his family is decidedly _not_ something he does. Even Sokka doesn’t know how he got into drawing and painting. His past is hideous and hurtful, its details and consequences repellant. He should give Katara the out she deserves.

As the waterfall thunders on, though, Katara’s free hand crawls over Zuko’s, her fingers working his fist loose so that she can intertwine them with his. He freezes.

“The day my grandmother taught me gratitude was awful,” the brunette says. “My brother and I had gotten into this horrible fight over how we were coping with our mother’s death. This was _years_ after the fact, but it sat with us for so long and...it festered. I told him that he didn’t love her the way I did because he wasn’t expressing loss the same way I was. I just...completely invalidated his experience because it wasn’t the same as mine. It was awful and short-sighted and selfish. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wish I could take it back, but I can’t. So instead I text my brother every morning and tell him how grateful I am for him.”

Katara’s shoulder bumps his and Zuko looks up. She isn’t looking at him, so he is graced with her profile. She is all soft cheek bones and plump lips. When she laughs softly, a small dimple appears and her hand squeezes his.

“He makes fun of me for it, but that’s okay. At least he knows.” Now her gaze does fall to Zuko, gentle and blue. “We all experience our own traumas. You don’t have to talk to me about yours if you don’t want to. I’m glad to know, though, that you found something that helps and that it allows you to create beautiful things. Because that’s one of the hardest parts of having an artistic soul and experiencing trauma, isn’t it? Managing to find and create beauty when the world feels anything but.”

* * *

They don’t explore the rest of the catacombs. Instead, they remain on their bench near the underground river and talk until a crotchety old man ushers them to the exit because it’s ten past closing and he wants to go home. He escorts them to the exit ramp, grumbling the whole way, and watches with a scowl as they begin their ascent as though he doesn’t trust them not to leave.

Sunset has long passed by the time Zuko and Katara surface above ground, their boots crunching in the snow and ice. A glance at the time and his growling stomach tell Zuko that a meal would be a great idea. He fidgets as he and Katara linger near the exit of the catacombs, very much wanting to draw the evening out longer but unable to figure out how without sounding as awkward as he feels. He’s always been shit at this. It’s no wonder Azula took pity on him so many years ago and set him up with Mai.

“Would you like to—” Zuko begins just as Katara says, “So I suppose—”

Both of them pause. Katara looks at him expectantly. Uncle would tell Zuko that the gentlemanly thing to do would be to allow her to speak first, but he’s hanging on to the frayed edges of his nerves and knows he’ll lose them entirely if he doesn’t ask now.

“Do you maybe want to grab something to eat?” he asks.

Katara grins. “What did you have in mind?”

Heart soaring, Zuko returns her smile with one of his own. As they set off down the street, he reaches for her hand and she is quick to reciprocate, her palm warm and sure against his. For the first time in over a decade, Zuko finds himself appreciating the solstice fairy lights that twinkle in windows and trees, if only because of the way they illuminate Katara’s face and shimmer along the waves of her hair.

“Look!” she says, pointing down the short alley that leads to the Firelight Fountain. The lanterns are twined with evergreen garland and gold and silver ornaments bob in the water. In the light of the lanterns, the whole thing is aglow.

“Did you make that happen?” Zuko asks quietly.

“It was an idea I ran past my boss yesterday afternoon. I wasn’t certain it would be executed.”

“It’s pretty.”

“Isn’t it?! The idea is to create hidden moments of celebration around the city. People can search for them and post pictures online. It’s like free promotional content for the main event. I want the labyrinth to tour all of them on the way to the center.”

“Which is the tea shop.”

“Yes.”

Zuko’s stomach joins the conversation at this moment, growling audibly, so they cease their admiration of the fountain and continue on.

The restaurant Zuko has in mind is crowded, a long line of patrons waiting outside the doors, but the hostess, a silken-haired woman in her early fifties, knows him as Iroh’s nephew and secures the first available table.

“Reservation for two?” she says loudly to cover her favoritism. “Right this way!”

“It’s okay,” Zuko mutters in Katara’s ear. She’s glancing over her shoulder at the other diners as though they might revolt. “I’m pretty sure she’s doing this because my uncle flirts with her all the time.”

At a cozy table for two next to a bank of windows that line the back of the dining room, the two order bowls of steaming ramen and plates of dumplings. When Katara requests seaweed noodles in her dish, Zuko instinctively pulls a face. He almost regrets it, but then she does the same when he requests that his food be made Fire Nation hot, so he figures they’re even.

“What do you do when you’re not going undercover for secret societies?” he asks.

Katara chuckles. “I work for White Lotus Relations,” she replies.

“The PR firm?”

He wonders if Suki knows her or if she knows Suki.

“Yeah.”

“Do you like it there?”

“It’s fun for now. I get a lot of flak from the other people who work there, which can be incredibly annoying. My grandmother’s new husband is the CEO, so there are a lot of assumptions about why I was hired.”

“Nepotism?”

She shrugs in deference. “It’s not so bad. I’m the kind of person who really likes to overachieve and prove people wrong, so the crap they fling at me ends up working in my favor a lot. I kick ass at my job. It’s how I got the society assignment.”

“You’re so good at what you do that the boss assigns you extra credit to keep you busy on your down time at work?”

“Something like that.”

The server delivers their food and Zuko snatches up his chopsticks, eager to dig in. He can smell the chilies in his ramen, mouth watering at the aroma. A look upward reveals that Katara is eyeing his dish with curiosity.

“Would you like to try some?” he offers.

“ _Spirits_ , no,” Katara says. “I can barely tolerate fire flakes. I was just wondering where you lived before you moved to Ba Sing Se.”

A chill skitters up Zuko’s spine. “We moved here from the Fire Nation when I was fourteen,” he says. The followup question lingers in the air, painfully obvious and leaving every inch of him—inside and out—cold.

“What brought your family here?”

Despite the anticipation of this, Zuko still has to set his chopsticks aside. His fingers have gone numb. Looking into Katara’s eyes is like a punch to the gut, the weight of her slowly-dawning understanding adding to the force of the hit.

“If you don’t want to talk about it—”

“No.” He inhales deep, breathing through the pain. Oddly, he finds that it isn’t that he doesn’t _want_ to tell Katara. “I just… I guess I don’t know how to start. I’m not even sure if the timing is appropriate.”

“I’m sorry to—”

“No, it’s nothing to do with you, Katara. The whole story is shitty and I’ve never had to tell a girl about it before. My ex was friends with my sister, so she knew all of it before we… Yeah.” Zuko pauses, searching her eyes. She’s listening, her head tilted to the side. “I don’t know if it’s a first date conversation. Maybe it’s more of a sixth or a seventeenth or a thirtieth.”

Katara frowns and tucks an errant curl of hair behind her ear. “I don’t think that you have to follow some sort of conventional timeline with your story, Zuko,” she says after a beat. “You are allowed to own your story on your own time. If that’s tonight, I’d be glad to listen. If that’s five years from now…” She pauses, her cheeks pink. She smiles softly. “I’d still be glad to listen.”

Zuko tries not to picture them five years in the future. It’s an utterly ridiculous thing to do on a first date. He hardly _knows_ her. Regardless, an image persists with the sound of laughter, the flash of a smile, the press of one body against another beneath the covers night after night. It’s warm and hopeful, tempting him to follow those thoughts down all avenues of potential that branch off of it.

Longing for the unknowable blooms in his chest, tender and sweet. He thinks that if there is even a chance of something like that happening, then starting off as honestly as possible is the only way to go. After all these years, memories of Ozai persist. Zuko has been irrevocably marked and changed by the events of his childhood. Katara at least deserves the basics.

“My mom left my dad,” he says quietly. “He was...not a very nice person.” The fingers on his hand twitch on instinct, the muscle memory of touching his scar whenever thoughts of Ozai surface. “One night, he got out of control. More so than usual. He put both of us in the ICU. My mom almost died and I almost lost my eye.”

The temptation to look at Katara’s face is overwhelming. In the time it takes for him to drag his eyes from the soft-boiled egg floating in his ramen to the young woman across from him, Zuko can’t help but anticipate revulsion or pity. Instead, he finds a hand fisted around chopsticks and then a carefully neutral set to her mouth, warmth and—he thinks—fury shining out from her cool blue eyes.

“He was different in the way he treated Azula. He abused her mentally and emotionally. When Mom and I were taken to the hospital, he abducted her. She was alone with him for days before social services was able to find them. It was months before she spoke after that. And when Mom was finally cleared to leave the hospital, Uncle took the three of us in.”

There is a beat of silence as though Katara is waiting for Zuko to continue. He doesn’t.

“That’s terrible,” she finally whispers.

“That’s, um…” Zuko clears his throat. “It’s why I don’t really care for the winter solstice.”

Katara blanches. “Oh, spirits,” she says. “Helping me with the project must be horrible for you.”

“It’s not so bad,” Zuko says. He offers her a small smile.

Somehow, mercifully, they manage to steer the conversation back to calmer, more light-hearted waters. Katara makes no indication that she’s inclined to run out of the restaurant. Zuko doesn’t want to either. There is an unexpected sense of relief that has come creeping along in the wake of sharing his pain with her. It isn’t the whole story. More lingers in his memory. Years of manipulation and anger and the unachievable dream of earning his father’s love and acceptance. For tonight, the basics are enough, though. And so, Katara and Zuko sit, talking for a long while, taking their time with their food as other patrons file in and out of the restaurant.

For the most part, they stick to less-intense topics of conversation. Katara is a fan of literature and history. She keeps a reading bucket list on her phone that is hundreds of entries long. When she talks about the book she’s currently reading (“A retelling of Oma and Shu. I’m kind of a secret romantic.”) her eyes and mouth soften, as though she has momentarily ventured into the legend’s realm. When she talks about her usual volunteer causes (“Ocean conservation and women’s rights.”), something like lightning crackles through her bright blue eyes.

Katara has a well of passion inside of her that is near infinite. It speaks to Zuko’s soul, igniting his own. Rather than the rage that his drive is usually channeled into, he feels the warm frisson of connection that comes with the recognition of one kindred spirit to another. By the time they are zipped and buttoned back into their outerwear, he is entirely smitten.

As they step into the dark, cold night, Katara’s hand finds Zuko’s easily. They are forced to wait at the first intersection they come to, cars whisking past them down the snowy streets. She’s speaking, her head tilted up at him, backlit by more fairy lights. Snowflakes catch the light as they land in the curls of her hair. Zuko hardly registers what she’s saying, he is so driven to distraction by the movement of her lips as they round out over vowels and syllables. Without thought or a moment’s hesitation, he leans in to kiss her. Faintly, he feels her hand land on his chest and fist in the fabric of his coat. It rings of surprise and he moves away to apologize, but then she tugs him closer and his hands find the curves of her waist as her lips part.

A car horn blares through the moment, loud and shrill. Zuko, groggy and lost the instant Katara steps back, is very tempted to flip off the driver who interrupted them. The pedestrian signal has changed in their favor, though, so they cross the street hand in hand, cheeks flushed and eyes glancing sidelong.

Tonight, Katara agrees, smiling broadly, when Zuko offers to walk her home. He is astonished to find that she lives only a few scant blocks from him in a cozy apartment building located across the street from a park that looks to be mostly pond and has little to offer in the way of running trails, grassy knolls, or trees.

“It’s the closest I can get to the ocean here in the city,” she says.

“It looks peaceful.”

“I’ve got a great view of it from my living room. It helps to ease the homesickness a little bit.”

Zuko nods and then finds that he doesn’t know how to continue from here. It seems foolish to draw out the conversation with words that are awkward and desperately clamoring for more of her time, but he’s comfortable in Katara’s presence and uneager to say goodnight just yet. And she has made no indications that she’s trying to give him the boot. His mind is endlessly blank, though, and oh, for the love of Agni, she’s looking at him, and—

“I’m _really_ bad at first dates,” his mouth blurts out before his brain can catch up.

Agni, strike him down!

“Could’ve fooled me,” Katara replies. “I’ve had a great time with you.”

“No, it’s not that I haven’t. I _have_. I’m just…” He sighs and follows through on the compulsion to rub at the back of his neck. “I’m bad at conversation. This part of things… I don’t know how to—”

Katara rolls up onto the tips of her toes and presses a kiss to Zuko’s cheek, gentle and unflinching. It’s odd, the ghost-like sensation of her upper lip on his scar contrasting with the clear, soft brush of her lower lip just below on the unmarked flesh. He watches her, dumbstruck, when she pulls back.

“Until next time, Zuko,” she says.

And if it had ended there it would have been perfect. He would have strolled home on a high.

But then, just as Katara steps away, her phone starts ringing in the depths of her purse. “I’m sorry,” she says, fishing it out. “This is my brother. I should really get this.”

“Of course,” Zuko says, thinking of her earlier confession regarding her brother.

“I’ll see you soon?”

Her phone is still ringing.

“Of course. Whenever you want.”

Katara casts him one last smile before sliding her thumb across the screen of her phone to answer the call. She turns away, tugging open the door of her building. Just before it swings shut behind her, Zuko hears her say, “Hey, Sokka.”

It takes a long moment for those two words to register. Katara has disappeared into an elevator by the time they do. And when they finally, _finally_ breach the core of his understanding, Zuko’s heart divebombs out of his chest and craters into the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://evergreenonthehorizon.tumblr.com/).
> 
> xx
> 
> evergreen


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